


The Boy's A Straight Up Hustler

by teenager



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Angst, Attempted Murder, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bad Decisions, Bad John Blake, Badass John, Bane is nice to John, Bruce is a Jerk, Criminal Masterminds, Homosexuality is as normal as Heterosexuality, John is also sort of in love with Bruce, M/M, Psychopaths In Love, Size Kink, So is Barsad, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:10:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenager/pseuds/teenager
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is left behind and forgotten. He doesn't take this well and ends up making some very poor choices.<br/>*Including a badass, arguably evil John Robin Blake doing badass, questionably criminal things while taking over Gotham's underworld.<br/>He might being doing it for the wrong reasons, but that's totally not the point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"You shouldn't be here," He says, gravely voice almost lost in the loud rushing of the waterfall echoing against the cave walls.

 

John smiles. A real smile, all teeth and crinkling eyes, walking up to the masked crusader, running a slender hand along the hard plastic of the suit. He circles the older man like a lion watching his prey. It’s a fair comparison, as all John can think about is devouring his guy whole.

 

“You know you don’t have to do the voice thing, right?” John chuckles. He feels confident, more so than usual, and he’s almost positive it’s because of last night. He blushes just thinking about it. “It’s just the two of us, now.”

 

The older man says nothing in return and John stops right in front of his elder, hands sliding up the stout neck and up to a chiseled face swathed in black. John gently reaches up and pops the mask off the man's face.

 

All that’s left is Bruce. And some blackface paint that makes him look like a wannabe racoon. But that is far from the point.

 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Bruce murmurs. John can feel the heat from his breath on his face. “It’s not safe.”

 

John cocks his head to the side.

 

“I’m standing in front of The Batman,” John says, leaning into Bruce’s ear. “I’m the safest I’ll ever be.”

 

“That’s why you’re not safe.” Bruce replies, pushing John a step back. “This isn’t.. it’s not right. You’re too young, Robin.”

 

“You know I hate that name,” John says bluntly. “And you didn’t seem too worried about my age last night when you were fucking me.”

 

Bruce ignores him in favor of removing the rest of his suit. John is still holding the cowl in his hand. It looks so lightweight but in his palm it feels so heavy.

 

“I’ll be seventeen in less than a month.” John blurts. “That’s, like, twenty in Gotham years.”

 

Bruce does laugh, then, but it sounds entirely devoid of any humour.

 

“And I’ll be twenty-five,” he states. “Hold old will that be in Gotham years?”

 

“Bruce,” John starts. Ready to explain that what they did was natural and fun and not a mistake. That they can make it work. John knows they can make it work. No one has to know, with Bruce by his side they can fix this city and rid it of the evil that inhabits it.

 

“No, John,” Bruce finally turns around to face him. His body looks rigid without the suit to protect his, all that’s left is a thin longsleeve. Black of course. John searches his face for some sort of emotion but finds none. He can feel it coming, but he prays that he’s wrong. “I can’t do this anymore. We can’t do this anymore.”

 

John feels like all the air in his lungs is just gone.

 

“This is all too complicated,” He walks up to John a runs a large palm into his hair. John can’t help but shiver. In the process, Bruce manages to slip the cowl out of John’s hand. “I think things would be better if we just end it here.”

 

“You’re not serious,” John questions. He can feel himself shaking. “What do you mean ‘end it here’? Bruce, I- I love you.”

 

“You don’t mean that,” Bruce says quickly. “You’ll realize that soon enough.”

 

“What am I supposed to do?” John shouts, “Find some pimp that’ll give me a place to sleep?”

 

“No,” Even in the dim lighting John can see the anger flash in the older man’s brown eyes. “You can obviously still stay here. I’m not kicking you out into the street, John.”

 

“It damn well feels like it,” John hisses. “Are we just going to live in the same place, tiptoeing around each other?”

 

“I’ll figue it out,” Bruce says. Behind him, one of the large computers beeps and flashes. Information scrolling onto a monitor, attracting all of Bruce’s attention. “You should get back upstairs. You’ll catch a cold down here.”

 

He quickly turns and stocks away, clicking away at a nearby keyboard. John doesn’t move, feeling cold and confused, but most of all angry.

 

He floats up back to the manor and finds Alfred in the kitchen heating up what smells like spahgetti. John’s stomach rumbles loudly, catching Alfred’s attention. The butler turns from the stove, welding a large wooden spoon.

 

“Master Blake!” Alfred’s smile is warm and inviting. It makes John want to cry. “I’ve made your favorite, added a bit of extra garlic as well.”

 

“Thank you, Alfred.” John smiles. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

 

"Ah, bullocks,” Alfred chuckles delightedly. “Will Master Bruce be joining us for dining?”

 

“No,” John can’t help but frown. “He seemed very busy.”

 

“That man is going to run himself into an early grave,” Alfred groans so quiet that John almost misses it.

 

John can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine.

 

 

* * *

 

 

In the morning when John goes down for breakfast he finds a worried Alfred. When they had parted ways last night, they were both happily stuffed with food although undeniably worried about Bruce. Keeping light conversation throughout their entire meal, and finally leaving each other with pleasant ‘good nights’.

 

Now he looks undeniably older, frown lines etched into his forehead.

 

“What’s wrong, Alfred?” John says, reaching into the fridge for some orange juice.

 

He’s grabs three glasses from the cabinet, intending to pour a glass for himself and Alfred and then to take one down to Bruce, who is probably still down in the bat cave. Hopefully John can persuade him to at least consider their relationship. He woke up in a rather good mood, mostly because he went to bed burping spaghetti.

 

Regardless, he feels like today is going to be a good day.

 

“It would seem that Mater Bruce has gone on vacation,” Alfred says tiredly. “Went island-hopping with Miss Kyle.”

 

John almost drops one of glasses. This can’t be happening.

 

“Impossible,” John whispers, then louder. “Let me see.”

 

Alfred hands over the note, and John gladly snatches it up, eyes quickly scanning the small paper. It’s definitely Bruce’s chicken-scratch.

 

He’s gone? And with that bitch, Selina? She's probably laughing at his idiocy.

 

Message received loud and clear, Bruce.

 

John feels a bit heartbroken and most of all angry as hell. Also, pretty damn heartbroken.

 

* * *

 

Two days later John is gone from the mansion. Only taking a small backpack stuffed with his most favorite clothes and a few hundred dollars.

 

He tells Alfred that’s he’s leaving to travel the world. To get away from the mess that is Gotham. He is very understanding but he’s still able to make John shed a few tears. They part ways with promises of writing to each other whenever the chance arises.

 

“I’ll be back,” John promises. He’s lying. Alfred know’s that he’s lying as well, but he chooses not to call him on it. It makes him leaving a bit more bearable for the both of them.

 

The hug that Alfred gives him is one of dreadful finality.

 

John disappears onto a train heading to Queens and doesn't look back.

  
  



	2. John's Journey

John was never a rich man.

 

In fact, he was always rather poor. Abandoned before he could even remember by parents he never got the chance to know. Left at St Swithin's' orphanage for almost sixteen years before being adopted by an old hag of a woman who only wanted John because of the government checks that he provided for her. He had gotten out of that situation as soon as he could, leaving for school one day and never coming back, disappearing with the night.

 

He had spent almost a year hustling on the streets, being angry at everyone and everything for treating him so unfairly before he finally received a shred of hope in his life. That was the year he had met Bruce. He remembers it so clearly. It was late November and he felt so young and there was snow everywhere. John was thin then and he remembers always feeling cold and bitter and was on the brink of giving up entirely.

 

He had wandered into the municipal cemetery, more than a tad drunk from a  bottle of rum that he had stolen from a nearby liquor store. It was sweet on his lips and sour on his tongue as he took swig after swig, running down his throat and heating him up from the inside out.

 

It’s true that John never had the chance to meet his parents, but sometimes he liked to visit graves and pretend they were people he knew. He would talk to the men and women resting six feet under the ground and vent his feelings to them, whatever they were; anger, remorse, happiness.

 

That night all he felt was sadness. He blamed it on the alcohol and the Christmas lights strung up outside the church opposite the graveyard. It cast a dizzying glow that was eerily beautiful and it wrecked John in the worse way.

 

He remembers how he felt his throat swell painfully, signally the tears that were bound to come. Soon enough his face was wet with his sorrow; the cold wind quickly causing his face to become numb. He thought of the mom and dad that he wished he had, the life that he could have had. He's had plenty of dreams about it, his mind fabricating new situations and people that feel so real. Each dream so different while still making him yearn for someone to love him. That night he'd dreamt of a small home with loving parents and warm rooms. Being wrapped in a large blanket with some hot chocolate along with amazing presents waiting for him under a humble Christmas tree.

 

Reality could never be that sweet for John.

 

The closest thing that he’s ever had to family were the other boys at St Swithin's. Thinking about staying up late with the other kids and opening their perfectly wrapped presents together brings more tears to his eyes. One year Father Eames and the director, Miss Mal, had saved enough money to hire a santa impersonator for them. At the time John was old enough to  realize that Santa wasn't real but seeing the looks of awe on the younger boys faces and hearing them talking about how awesome Santa was for the next few weeks made him absurdly happy. Everyone talking and laughing and just being together truly made John feel like he belonged. It was his last christmas at St. Swithins before he was adopted. He wishes he could go back, but he knows that the director would have to call his adoptive mother and he would just end up running away again.

 

Thinking about the lack of a family he had made him furious and he had thrown the bottle of rum at the ground with all the force he could muster. It was still three quarters full when it broke, the sound deafening in the emptiness of the cemetery. He sniffed away some of the tears that tried to escape and rubbed his nose, the cold having made it go numb a while ago.

 

“Aren’t you too young to be that drunk?” Bruce had asked.

 

John remembers the way his heart stopped and the way he almost jumped out of his skin, not realizing that anyone else was with him at the isolated cemetery.

 

“It’s not any of your business,” John had snarked, he didn’t miss the way his voice slurred slightly. “What are you even doing here?”

 

“Visiting family,” Bruce had cocked his head to the side, a slight frown on his mouth. “Like you.”

 

“I don’t have any family,” John had answered coolly. “I just- I come here when I need to think.”

 

Looking back, John is grateful. Eternally grateful that someone like Bruce was willing to take in a young, angry boy that he had no reason to trust. They had both had much in common, though. The loneliness and the anger; that’s probably why they meshed together so well. John thinks that is why he fell in love with Bruce so quickly. They were two of a kind.

 

A boy and a man together against the world. At least that’s what John thought at the time. It was nice while it lasted, the comradery between them, the knowledge that they weren't truly alone anymore. He had felt rich for a while in spirit as well as financially, while he was with Bruce. The millionaire had secretly taken him around town and let him buy anything that his heart had desired. John was drunk on the wealth the Bruce had given him.

 

With Bruce, John felt like he belonged somewhere and was important to someone. He felt like he didn't have to worry about something so trivial as where he would bathe or what he would have for dinner or if he would have clean clothes for the week.

 

All of it had disappeared before his eyes in an instant. Along with the big mansion he began to call home and Alfred, who was really starting to grow on him, who felt like a sort of uncle to him. And most of all Bruce. Losing hm hurt more than any pain he’d ever known.

 

He’d have to manage, though, like he always did.

 

John’s come to learn that that’s they way the world works. Happiness isn’t permanent, you get it and it disappears and you have to learn how to deal with the consequential reality that is bound to follow. Living in Gotham proved that to him, especially.

  


 

* * *

 

 

The train lurches to a stop, squeaking loudly as the wheels brake on the tracks.

 

John rubs the sleep from his eyes, a large yawn erupting deep from within his chest. He shivers, goosebumps running over his flesh when those memories flood back into his consciousness. He hasn’t been sleeping lately for that reason exactly.

 

Old memories of Bruce plaguing his thoughts. He yawns again as people stand up to get off the train and onto the subway. John can’t even escape from his past when he sleeps.

 

* * *

 

 

The fact that it only took four months before John was crawling back into Gotham’s city limits didn’t hurt his ego. The fact that he had to illegally hitchhike a ride on the train back into Gotham because he was too broke certainly did, though.

 

It would have been a solid five months, but he just couldn’t stay away. The place is alluring in it’s own way, John thinks, like a black hole is to surrounding stars and meteoroids.

 

He’d only traveled as far as Starling City before running out of clean clothes and eventually cash. John realized that he would have to get a job or something, which sounded extremely unappealing. Feeling equally depressed and annoyed at the world, he decided to rob a defenseless businessman, who may or may not have reminded him slightly of Bruce.

 

The guy only had two-hundred bucks on him, along with a nice cell phone that he pawned for fifty dollars. To say that John had hit bottom would have been an understatement.

 

On his journey to nowhere, John had managed to meet more than a few shady characters, some of which he’d really like to forget. He had also done some rather shady things that may or may not make a nun throw holy water at him. At this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if he started to burn.

 

Like having sex with random guys and breaking into a house or four. It wouldn’t have made him feel as bad if he had enjoyed it, but he didn’t. In fact, it made John feel worse than ever and he quickly stopped. The sex, of course, it had only managed to make him feel more hollow on the inside. John had no moral issues with breaking into houses for a quick shower and a bite to eat. Any moral quarrels he had about B & E died when his stomach felt like it was imploding on him. Hitting up nice houses also helped when he found jewelry and nice clothes that he could sell at a later date for hefty amounts of cash. He was a tad surprised that he didn’t feel any shred of guilt.

 

And to think, he had seriously considered joining the GCPD and becoming a cop.

 

Alas, after sexing up a few men and taking a turn for the dark side, John had finally settled back in the city he called home. With more money than he left with, John quickly found a suitable apartment in the trashier side of Gotham and worked up the determination to look for honest work.

 

At the time, John just wanted to forget about everything that happened within the last six months. Everything from Bruce to his trip out of Gotham and his short criminal detour. This would be a fresh start for John. Truly forget everyone and everything in his past and start a new life. He considered changing his name to Joseph or Tom to make it official.

 

He eventually finds work in the form of a nearby chinese restaurant that’s willing to take a scrawny, eighteen year old boy with no former work experience.

 

Most of the time he has no idea what the tiny woman of an owner is yelling at him, but she isn’t throwing things at him like she does the other workers, so he figures that he’ll be alright.

 

John is only allowed to wash dishes for now, and it’s fine, except for the fact that all he can do while washing dishes is think.

 

It’s fairly tortuous.

 

Thoughts of him and Bruce are often at the forefront of his mind. He really does try to forget about the guy, because Lord knows that Bruce has probably forgotten about him. But what is he hasn’t? His mind flits back and forth between yearning for the older man and hating his guts. He wants to pull his hair out sometimes, why can’t he just delete all memories of the guy?

 

If only the universe was that easy.

 

It’s a Friday and John is just glad to be off for two days, he like’s his job and the other guys who work in the dish room and nice enough, but John needs some down time. After working at the restaurant for three weeks, John’s reasoned that eating chinese everyday can’t be healthy, so he decides to get a few necessities from the grocery store.

 

He makes seven-fourty an hour, so that only leaves room for actual food. Like ice cream and hot-pockets. The checkout lines are unusually long, being that it’s almost ten o’clock, but he has nothing else to do, so he doesn’t feel excessively bothered.

 

John finally makes it near the register and his eyes scan some of the magazines that are always stocked up around the checkout lines. One imparticular catches his eye.

 

“ _ **PLAYBOY BRUCE WAYNE AND HIS NEW BOY-TOY?:** Check out page 32 for the full story!_ ”

 

His eye twitches severely.

 

He snatches the magazine up like it’s the last thing that he’ll do, tearing a few pages in the process to make it to page thirty-two to see what the fuck is going on.

 

John finally finds the page and his other eye decides to twitch without his consent. It wouldn’t have bothered him as much if it was a girl that Bruce was parading around town with, whether or not she was young.

 

But that isn’t the case.

 

Because it’s a guy. A young guy. A guy who looks like he’s not a day over fucking twenty years old. Midnight black hair that's slicked back and impeccably well dressed, perfect for Bruce, John admits bitterly. The caption beneath the picture reads: "Gotham's own Bruce Wayne with up-and-coming socialite Arthur Miller. Aren't they fabulous together?"

 

He’s pretty sure that his hands are shaking at this point, and the box of hot-pockets John had tucked under his arm and definitely crushed.

 

Because, what the fuck? What the hell does the dick-head think he’s doing? Going around dating young guys when he refused to date John because he was a young guy. Showing him off to the world as well while he always wanted to sneak John around like a dirty little secret? Bruce does know how to add insult to injury.

 

Repeat: What the actual fuck?

 

If he looks at the page any longer than he thinks that he’ll get an aneurysm. In the large photo that takes up half of the freakin’ page, Bruce has his arm wrapped around his male companion, and a warm smile on his face. The kid looks equally as smug about being with Bruce and it pisses him off beyond belief.

 

That could have been him.

 

But it’s not. Thoughts of the night where Bruce rejected him flash through his mind and he wishes that he could have said something to have kept Bruce to himself.

 

“ _We can’t do this anymore_ ,” Bruce had said. “ _Too complicated_.”

 

“Bullshit,” blurts rather loudly. The woman in front of him jumps slightly. She frowns at him and he offers a smile as apology.

 

It is bullshit, though, because Bruce can fuck around with this kid, but not John, who was there for him whenever he needed. Was there whenever Bruce or the Batman needed him.

 

John remembers the times when he would help Bruce stitch up wounds that he managed to collect while cleaning up Gotham as the Batman. He remembers helping Bruce out of the goddamn suit when he was too tired to even yank himself out of the clunky armor. Hell, John even remembers the time leading up to the night they had sex. When it was just the two of them, watching some stupid reality show on the television; cooking up whatever scraps of food Alfred left in the fridge because neither of them were good cooks. It wasn’t the most glamorous thing in the world, but it was just them. Being together was nice, having someone who would be there when you wanted to not be alone.

 

Apparently John wasn’t good enough. His face heats up with anger at the thought.

 

If Bruce Wayne thinks that he can actually get away with this, practically mocking John by publicly dating a guy, then he has another thing coming.

 

Hell hath no fury like a teenage boy that can seriously hold a grudge scorned.

 

John leaves his items in a nearby grocery cart and walks out with a brand new attitude. He doesn’t go back to work and leaves everything except his clothes and some money in his apartment.

 

If Bruce won’t pay attention to him while he’s trying to do good, then maybe he will when John does bad.

 

He’ll never know unless he tries.

 

* * *

 

 

John pulls the mask over his face with shaky hands.

 

He tells himself over and over again that, logically, he has no reason to be nervous. He’s memorized the layout of the store so well that he could draw it blindfolded. He knows all possible exits, the shifts of every employee working there; specifically the guards, and he knows where the safe is.

 

Hell, he even knows the combination to the damn thing.

 

He smirks to himself when the memory appears before him.

 

It was the fourth time that John had walked into the jewelry store to scope out the place when a guy had approached him with a rather predatory smile.

 

“Is there anything I can do to help you, sir?” The guy had asked.

 

John hadn’t missed the lusty glint in his eyes. At the time he had thought nothing of it, besides the fact that the guy was a complete sleezeball.

 

On the spot John had come up with a surprisingly good excuse. His mouth quickly working out “I’m looking for my friend. He’s ready to propose and really needs help with the ring.”

 

Knowing that John wasn’t the one looking to get married had only managed to make the man’s smirk deeper.

 

“Well, I’m Luke,” The man had said. “And I can definitely help you with that.”

 

John couldn’t help the burst of laughter that came from within him at the absolutely horrible come on. He had played it off as a giggle of embarrassment and Luke knew no better.

 

A few more run-ins and a quick mess around later, John had walked away with the safe combination. It was one night after a quick hand-job, with Luke having fallen asleep immedietly after. John made quick work of scouring the man’s apartment before finding the key code hidden inside of his desk drawer.

 

John had made sure to keep in touch a bit, eventually making up a story that he had found a really nice guy that he was hoping to settle down with. It would have been a tad too suspicious to end things so suddenly. Especially since he was planning to rob the place as soon as he could.

  


He looked in the mirror again and willed his body to calm down. Things would go perfectly, he’d be in and out with a lot of money and a few gems in his pocket. As an alibi John had made sure to snap a few pictures of himself with a couple of the guys from work, in case anything did come back to bite him in the ass.

 

“Get it together,” John whispers to himself.

 

He grabs the crowbar that he had placed in his backpack earlier and runs up to the store. It’s two in the morning and the streets are empty in this part of town, most families asleep in their cozy, white-picket-fence homes.

 

He smashes the window as hard as he can and it cracks perfectly into hundreds of dazzling little shards. Being that the store is located in one of the nicer parts of town, there aren’t any burglar bars and John is thankful for that. He may be fairly small for a mostly grown man, but he isn’t as small or skinny as he was a few months ago.

 

The alarm blares to life and instantly John’s adrenaline goes into overdrive. Pumping his blood as fast as it can though his body, forcing his limbs to move quickly. He heads straight for the safe he knows is hidden in the manager’s office. He deftly spins the combination in and the lock clicks open. When he spots all the money placed inside the safe, John’s heart soars.

 

He slips his backpack off and begins to shove all the money inside with wild abandon. The sound of police sirens finally hits his ears and he stuffs to rest of the cash inside the pack before the cops get any closer. The bag is heavy when he puts it back on, but knowing that it’s stuffed with money makes it a burden that he will gladly carry. Smashing a few cases of jewelry on the way out and putting some of the pricier gems in the pocket of his hoodie so that the scene looked more like a smash and grab than a planned robbery.

 

He turns on the corner of the store that leads to the alley where he initially waited for the place to close up and makes his way to the apartment building across the street. As soon as he makes it to the roof of the building he can clearly see everything happening at the store. The police lights are obvious in the darkness of the night.

 

John is thankful that he was smart enough to think of this place to hide after he robbed the jewelry store.

 

His heart is still pounding and he might have twisted his ankle racing up the stairs to get up to the roof so fast, but all the money currently in his possession totally makes up for it.

 

John stays on the roof long into the morning. He decides to wait there until the cops have left to make completely sure that he’s in the clear.

 

As the last squad car drives off, he pulls the ski-mask off his face and piles everything into his backpack, slowly making his way back to ground level.

 

John makes it home without fuss and he couldn't be happier. It turns out that he did, if fact, twist his ankle, if the swelling and throbbing is any indication, but he just ices it and hopes for the best. Later that night while sitting on the couch and counting out his cash, he catches a new report about a smash and grab that occurred in the Heights, one of the safer places in Gotham. John scoffs at the television when they interview a middle-aged looking woman who’s earrings alone probably cost more than everything John has ever owned.

 

“I truly can not believe what happened. This is such a nice area, and it’s such a shame that some hoodlums just come around and ruin things. I hope the police catch those deviants!”

 

The tv cuts back to the silver haired news man who reads off the information given to him in a rather monotone fashion.

 

“Police were called to the scene when the store’s alarm was sounded, but investigators report that there are no current leads.”

 

When John hears that he feels a weight lifted off his shoulder. Not only did he manage to steal a bunch of cash, but he got away with it too!

 

John exhales a deep breath, an unusually large grin overtaking his face.

 

He could definitely get used to being a bad guy.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s just sitting there.

 

Sitting there in the middle of the alley waiting to be taken.

 

It has to be a trap, right? Like some sting the cops set up to catch idiots that are actually dumb enough to steal it.

 

No, it couldn’t be. Gotham cops aren’t that thoughtful.

 

Maybe he should just go for it. It’s worth the risk. He’s fast enough to grab the thing and make a run for it, and if anyone does actually come after him, he’ll just run faster or something. Lord knows he’s done it before.

 

John contemplates stealing the duffle for about five minutes before making up his mind. The bag looks stuffed to the brim, with what, he doesn’t know, but in this part of town it has to be something good.

 

Maybe it’s drugs or guns. He could sell it for really good cash. What if it was stuffed with cash? John could finally eat something other than peanut butter sandwiches. Oh, it would be really awesome if that duffle bag was packed with cold hard cash.

 

He’s made enough money in the last few weeks to get an apartment again, a nice one at that, but he just doesn’t feel like living life like a normal civilian anymore. He’s currently got around ten-thousand dollars from the few jobs he’s done so far, but he’s hoping that soon he’ll be able to get in on the big games. He’s heard a few rumors around town that he can buy into some of the arms trafficking rings and from there who knows what John could do.

 

Maybe he’ll get brave enough to rob a museum of priceless art or hold the mayor hostage. Maybe the Batman will show up and John can punch him in his stupid face.

 

That really would be awesome.

 

He hears the sound of a car honking and crashes out of his daydream, focusing back on the bag in front of him.

 

He curses under his breath pulls the hood of his sweater over his head before dashing forward from his hiding spot in between two dumpsters.

 

It’s much heavier than he should have thought it would be but now that he’s running, he doesn’t think he’d be able to stop. The office building he’s squatting in is only a few blocks from here and he’s not stopping until he makes it safely inside with the door locked behind him.

 

He doesn’t hear anyone chasing after him or yelling at him to stop so he thinks the coast is clear. Until five seconds later he hears loud footsteps following after him and shouting. Just his luck.

 

“Hey! Punk!” Says a deeply accented voice. “Drop the bag!”

 

His body goes into overdrive when he hears a bullet whiz past him and into the brick building next to him. He keeps running towards his place, making turns whenever he can, but he’s still being chased. He’s thinking about other escape plans when loses track of where he is.

 

He’s hasn’t been shot at in all his two months of robbing small clothing and grocery stores Even robbing the jewelry store went smoother than this. Shit is starting to get real.

 

“Oh, fuck,” John says under his breath. He makes a quick left and spots an abandoned building thats he’s sure he's raided before and speeds up faster. The footsteps behind him aren't as loud so he takes a chance and heads for it. He slams his body into the doorway and bursts through the empty factory. His feet pounding away at the pavement beneath his feet, creating distance between him and his followers.

 

He spots a way out and goes through another door. Coming out on a street that he’s unfamiliar with. He can still hear shouting behind him, but it doesn't sound as close anymore. His heart is still pounding at the anticipation of getting caught by whoever is after him. There isn’t really anywhere else to run but straight and he’s not sure if he has the endurance for that.

 

He’s jogging down the street, clutching on to the bag while looking for a route that is anywhere but here when, a car pulls up on the side of him.

 

God, what if he dies because of this? He’s only done stupid shit like this only a few times. Robbing the jewelry store was the most intense, and it definitely got his blood pumping; the incentive of cash an added bonus. The thought of dying helps put a pep in John’s step, but the car stays on him.

 

To John’s surprise, the guy driving rolls down his window and hollers at John. There are a couple of hookers are standing ahead of him so he assumes that the guy assumes that John is also a hooker.

 

Please, he’s way too cute to be a hooker. An escort, maybe, but not a hooker.

 

Now that he’s looking, he realizes the car is ridiculously ostentatious and looks brand new almost. The guy inside of it, not so much. He’s chubby with balding blonde hair. He has shifty eyes and his skin looks greasy. John sort of feels like barfing just looking at him.

 

“Hey, kid,” The guy says. He looks nervous and John attempts to smile. “How much for some fun?”

 

The bag is getting a bit heavy on his shoulder and he’s almost positive that he hears sound of footsteps growing louder now. It doesn’t take John more than a second to answer.

 

“A hundred,” John says, walking up to the window, anxious. “For the night.”

 

The man smiles, then, and nods his head a few times. John wishes he would hurry the fuck up.

 

“Sounds good, kid,” He finally pushes open the passenger door and John wastes no time getting in. “What’s in the bag?”

 

He pulls away from the sidewalk and onto the main road. After looking over his shoulder like the paranoid thief he is, and seeing that no one is behind them, he takes a deep breath and answers.

 

“Condoms and lube,” John snarks. “I hope you’re ready.”

 

The man laughs and puts his palm on John’s crotch. He uses all his willpower not to gag or move away. As soon as the car is stopped he’s getting the fuck out of dodge and away from this pervert. His heart is still pounding from the running he was doing but it doesn't seem like it’s going to slow down with this guy molesting him.

 

“You’re a feisty one,” he answers. “I’m Bill, by the way.”

 

John feels uncomfortable and completely unsure of what to do. Although he has picked up guys before, it was completely different than this. He wasn’t getting paid then, and he sort of knew the guys he was planning on sleeping with and they certainly weren’t barf worthy.

 

“That’s usually when you tell me your name, kid,” the guy, Bill, says.

 

From the car he’s driving, he seems rich enough to score a gold digger or two, so why prostitutes? Young male ones, at that. Maybe he’s into deprived stuff or maybe he’s a serial killer. He doesn’t miss that the guy keeps calling him a ‘kid’ which bothers him a bit because he turned fucking nineteen last week. Maybe underage shit gets his rocks off.

 

Regardless, John needed a getaway and this was his ticket out, John isn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

“I’m Robin,” John says. It feels weird to use that name, only Bruce ever called him that. “Where are we going to do this?”

 

“There’s a hotel not far from here,” Bill answers, his hand still rubbing up and down John’s upper thigh. “I want to fuck you on a bed.”

 

“Yeah,” John says, the hairs on his neck standing on edge. “Whatever you want. As long as you pay me.”

 

The man begins to make lefts and rights down backstreets that John never knew even existed before eventually turning into a run down motel. John is ready to bolt, hand on the door, when he feels to cool press of metal against his temple.

 

“Don’t move,” He hears. John swallows thickly and curses his luck. “You’re going to do everything I say and then I’ll let you go. If you try to run, I’ll blow your brains out. Believe me, I’ve done it before.”

 

“Alright,” John says, almost whispering. Afraid to talk too loud and spook the guy. “I’ll do what you want.”

 

He grabs John roughly by the arm and pushes his out of the car, pointing the gun right at John all the while. John is scared shitless but he doesn’t leave the bag, because if he does eventually get out of this then he for sure isn’t leaving the bag that started this all behind.

 

He should have just gone home, which is just an abandoned office building that he spruced up and starting calling his hideout, it’s rent free and right now he really regrets his decision to go out instead of reading or something else productive.

 

He pushes John into a room that he already had the key for and blocks the only door. The smell inside is awful and John can’t help but gag. It smells like nothing John has ever inhaled before.

 

“Drop the bag,” The guy says, licking his lips. “And strip.”

 

John doesn't move at first, his limbs unable to follow the command given to him. That's when he spots a large trash that looks like it has a body within it. It would definitely explain the smell. John's body trembles.

 

“I said, strip!” The guy comes after him lightening quick for how large he is, and swings the gun at John’s head. It hits him square on the brow and pain blossoms immediately. Soon after he can feel a wetness there, blood starts to drip down his face.

 

John quickly sheds his clothes after that, leaving only his boxer-briefs at Bill’s request that he keep them on.

 

“Now get on the bed,” He snarls, palming his cock through his trousers. “I’m going to fuck you nice and hard.”

 

John feels like a trapped animal that’s being cornered. He has nowhere to go and there is no way he’s going to get raped. Bill still has the gun in a vice grip but he’s finally moved away from the door. Should John just make a run for it?

 

He looks back and forth between the door and his new captor before taking a risk and diving for the door. He’s pounced on before he can grab the knob and is dragged to the floor. Bill has him by the ankles and John scrambles for something but only manages to pull down the nearby bedside dresser and lamp.

 

“Get off me!” John shouts at the top of his lungs. Praying that someone will hear him. “Help me!”

 

“Shut the hell up!” The man yells, finally pulling John under him and managing to get on top. He  wraps his grubby fingers around John’s neck and squeezes. “I told you not to run!”

 

John tries to pry to older man’s fingers away from his neck but as the seconds pass, so does the oxygen in his body. After a minute of fighting back,  his visions starts to spot and his eyes feel like they’re about to pop out of his skull.

 

“Please,” John rasps, barely able to get out any words. “Stop.”

 

He can’t get anything else out and tears leak out of his eyes of their own accord. He’d never thought that he’d die like this.

 

John feels his heart pounding excessively hard against his chest, on the brink of bursting when the door of the motel room slams open.

 

A bearded man steps over the threshold, eyes blazing. He takes in the scene for a second and John reaches out for him. John’s never seen him before, but fuck, he needs some help here! Bill stays on him, determined to ring out the last bit of life within him before the man makes his move. He swings his leg up and knocks Bill square in the jaw. The pervert goes down hard and doesn't move after that. John is free and he greedily gulps in air, his chest is still on fire and his blurry vision doesn’t lessen.

 

The man steps over both his and Bill’s body and heads right for the duffle bag. John attempts to shout again but all he gets is a groan that irritates his throat beyond belief. He feels so tired that he can’t even move anymore. The feeling of hands choking him imprinted against his neck and in his brain.

 

John’s vision is limited to a pinhole now and the last thing he sees is the stranger walking over to him. Feeling cold hands at his neck, checking his pulse. He falls prey to the blackness and his pain is finally gone.

 

* * *

 

 

John wakes up with a horrible headache, temples pounding in sync with the beats of his heart. He can’t move very quickly, his entire body aching,  but he does notice that he clothes are back on. And more noticeably he realizes that he’s alive and away from that psycho rapist.

 

He hisses when he rolls over from his back to his stomach,  groaning miserably. John’s eyes scan the area nearby, but it’s so dark he can’t see much.

 

A light suddenly flickers on, blinding him.   He shields his eyes as he hears the sound of heavy footsteps approach him. His eyes quickly adjust to the light and John looks up to see where the hell he’s at when he spots the man who saved him.

  


That’s also when John notices the man in the mask.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap this took forever to type and I tried to beta but I'm sure I missed something.  
> Regardless, enjoy!


	3. Meeting The Mask

The man who had saved him back at the motel is standing at the back of the room, tall and stiff near the door. Presumably to block the way out.

 

John’s entire body aches as he slowly sits up. His abdomen hurts most of all, as he breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth a sharp pain runs through his chest.

 

Directly in front of him is an immensely burly man, who looks as if he’s ready for war. John looks to his face to see if he recognizes the man, but a clunky mask conceals his identity. The only thing John can see are his eyes, a blazing blue color in the dim light of the room.

 

John is afraid that he’s about to be murdered, again, but he reasons that if these people wanted him dead that they would have done so when he was out cold. Unless they wanted him to suffer. Which he really hopes isn’t the case.

 

His body is in need of some serious rest as the moment, but he’d rather not be chopped into a bunch of pieces and scattered into the ocean or something equally horrifying. The being said, John takes a deep breath and wills his body not to fail him.

 

John stares boldly at the man in the mask for about five seconds, still as a statue, before bolting for the exit.

 

He doesn't make it very far.

 

He easily dodges the larger man, whizzing past him without any issues, but the smaller man proves to be a much bigger problem than John first assumed.

 

John is caught easily around the waist, but he doesn’t go down as easy. He trained with the Batman for fucks sake. He uses the momentum he gained from running and swings both of them closer to the door. The man slams into the floor, taking John with him. That move manages to knock all of the wind out of John’s already abused lungs and after than he can’t even think about moving, let alone escaping.

 

“Fuck,” John groans in pain. His voice is scratchy and almost non-existent.

 

The man rolls on top of him, knees on either side of John’s thighs. He deftly pins John’s arms above his head when John rationalizes that freedom is much more important than the pain he’s feeling in that moment. He decides to knee the guy in the balls as hard as he can. John has no moral qualms about fighting dirty. He hears what sounds like a curse in a language he doesn’t know before his arms are released and the man falls to the side heavily before curling in on himself.

 

John wastes no time making a run for it. He crawls to the door, panting heavily, and makes it around five feet away from his captors before he feels a sharp pain bloom in the back of his skull and immediately after he’s out cold.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When John wakes up this time, he’s tied to a chair. Very tightly, if he might add. His head is throbbing in sync with the beating of his heart and he feels like he wants to puke. He groans miserably and clenches his teeth, willing all the pain in his body to vanish.

 

“Finally awake, little firecracker?” John hears from somewhere around him.

 

His vision swims as the masked man steps in front of him. John has no chance of running, anymore. Not binded the way he is to the chair, so he quickly accepts the fact that he’s going to be stuck here.

 

“What do you want?” John grunts, cutting to the chase.

 

The man chuckles, but it sounds strange and warped as it comes through the mask and echos against the walls.

 

“Straight to the point,” The man retorts. “Alright, then. Barsad.”

 

Suddenly, the man who tackled John to the ground emerges from the shadows, watching the younger man with squinted eyes. John smirks at him, because at least he got a good hit on the guy. John knows he’s going to be feeling that for days. He’s impressed and also a tad intimidated that the guy isn’t limping right now, actually.

 

“Who do you work for?” The man, Barsad, rumbles. John has never heard a name like that, before, and he wonders where exactly these guys are from. He noticed the slight accent that both men had when they spoke, but he had no idea where they could be from. Somewhere in Europe, perhaps. Maybe Russia.

 

“Nobody,” John answers truthfully, confused at the question.

 

“How did you know about the exchange?” He’s asked. John’s taken aback by the line of questioning. Do they honestly think he’s working with some higher power?

 

“I’ll stop your interrogation here,” John rasps, throat still agitated. “I’m really not working with anyone. I’m just a poor kid, who saw a bag and decided to steal it. End of story.”

 

“If that’s so,” Barsad starts, looking at him inquisitively, thinking over John’s response before speaking again. “Then why did you try to run just now?”

 

“I was scared!” John blurts honestly. “I’m still scared. I don’t know you people. I know you saved me from that guy back at that motel, but…”

 

“Yes, the man,” The masked man jumps in. “Why was he trying to kill you?”

 

Goosebumps fly across John’s skin, making the room feel significantly cooler. He hopes that bastard goes to jail. The sickly sweet smell of the motel room seems to appear out of nowhere and into John’s nose. Nausea quickly rolls into his system and he clenches his teeth to keep from gagging. He remembers the trash bag he had seen that looked like it was stuffed with human remains. That could have easily been John had Barsad not came in and saved the day.

 

“I don’t know,” John starts. “He wanted me… he was going to-”

 

John doesn’t finish. Shaking the memory from his head, he feels embarrassed and angry at what happened. Fear continues to course though John’s system, worried about what’s going to happen to him now.

 

“Does it matter?” John asks, then as the question pops into his head. “Did you kill him?”

 

The two men share a look that John can’t decipher.

 

“Should I have killed him?” Barsad asks, infuriatingly skeptical. “Did he deserve to die?”

 

“Of course,” John answers without hesitation. “He was going to _rape_ and _kill_ me! It’s not like I was his first victim either. You we’re there, in the room.”

 

John knows that Barsad had to have known what that guy was up to. The smell alone was a dead giveaway. And the fact that he probably took the time to put John’s clothes back on means that he must’ve seen the body, too.

 

“He won’t be a problem to you,” Barsad answers finally. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

After speaking, Barsad pulls a rather large knife from a holster on his ankle and moves in. John’s heart begins to pump blood quickly through his body as his fear level ratchets up. Is this guy really going to kill him?

 

The knife slices through his bonds like butter. The thick rope falls to the ground with a dull thud and relief floods though John’s veins.

 

John doesn’t move, though, not knowing what might happen next.

 

“You may go,” The masked man says.

 

John is… confused. Thankful, but confused.

 

“That’s it?” John asks. “You just wanted to ask me questions?”

 

“You’re story adds up,” Barsad replies. “Unless you’d like to stay.”

  
  


Just stands up too quickly at that, causing the room to spin. John powers through it, determined to make it back home and sleep for a week or four. He looks back on his way out and finds himself being watched. John honestly doesn’t know what to think about this entire situation.

 

“Farewell, Robin,” John hears behind him. He hauls ass after that, shivers crawling up his arms and back. He doesn’t know how they know his name, that name, but he doesn’t want to find out.

 

The room is connected to a long hallway that leads to a set of winding stairs. John follows them, panting heavily by the time he makes it to the top. Another door awaits him, but this one leads outside. It’s blessedly warm outside even though there’s not a trace of the sun in the sky.

 

It takes a while of aimlessly jogging around before John realizes that he’s only a few blocks away from his place. The building he was taken hostage in apparently located in the distillery district. It’s a small, run down part of town occupied by criminals and druggies alike. John lives far enough away from the area that the only people he ever has to deal with are the homeless.

 

The trek home feels endlessly long, but he finally makes it to the building he’s been squatting at. It’s never looked more appealing to him than it does now. He made sure he was the only occupant staying there before actually moving in, not wanting to wake up in the middle of the night with a stranger standing over him.

 

The space is nice enough, basic amenities presumably left behind when the building was abandoned. When John had first found the place, it was a dump, but after a thorough cleaning, the place had turned out sort of perfect. Rent and neighbor free, with an open floor plan. John had to spend money on a nice mattress, food, and other necessities, but other than that it was great. It felt like his own secret hideout.

 

He grabs the key that he stashes above the door and it slides into the lock. Everything looks the same as he left it, and when he chances a glance at the clock near the bed, he’s informed that it’s already eleven at night. John reels at that, because that means he must have been out for hours. Having left home at twelve the previous night, unable to sleep. That’s definitely not the case, anymore.

 

John’s drained but he feels disgusting, so he heads to the bathroom to clean up. He empties his bladder and hops into the shower, turning the water as high as it will go. The water is so hot it turns his flesh a light pink, but it feels so glorious he doesn’t care. When he steps out, he catches sight of himself in the mirror and is floored.

 

Large bruises cover the expansion of his neck. They’re a deep purple colour, slightly green around the edges and look faintly like handprints. There’s also a large, painful bump sitting on his brow from where he was knocked in the head by the man’s gun.

 

John curses his foolishness for even getting in that pervert’s car and quickly stocks out of the bathroom.

 

His stomach growls for food but he’s so tired that all he can do is fall into bed.

 

It’s then that it hits him. John forgot all about the fucking duffle bag. More preoccupied about his survival, even though that bag is what got him into all sorts of trouble.

 

He wishes that he could have found out what was in the damned thing, but he’s alive and that’s all that really matters to him, at the moment.

 

It doesn’t take long for John’s eyelids to get heavy and his breathing to slow down. Before he knows it, he’s  falling away from reality.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Barsad comes back into the room holding a thick bundle of rope. Bane doesn’t miss the slight limp his right-hand man has when he walks. The little firecracker put up quite the fight, and Bane would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed with the boy.

 

Not many people can’t get the upper hand when sparring with Barsad. Especially someone so young.

 

“In pain, brother?” Bane jokes. “I’m sure I would be.”

 

Barsad throws the rope to the floor, scoffing at Bane’s remark. He pulls in chair from the hallway, the scraping sound of wood against the tile flooring echoes loudly. On the floor, the boy lays unconscious from a quick blow to the back of the head.

 

“You’re not as funny as you think,” Barsad grunts. “Help me with him.”

 

Bane complies, easily lifting the boy off the ground and seating him on the chair. From there Barsad ties the rope around his body, making sure that he has no chance of escaping. Bane doesn’t say anything when Barsad pulls the rope taut, smirking at the boy’s unconscious form. He catches Bane’s skeptical look and shrugs.

 

“Don’t want him escaping again,” He explains. “We still don’t know who he works for.”

 

That sobers Bane up quickly. He has a job to do, there’s no time for joking around.

 

“Did the man say anything before you killed him?” Bane asks, observing the bruises covering the boy’s neck. Barsad told him that the boy was on the brink of death when he found him, being smothered by a pig of a man. It wasn’t a hard decision to let Barsad end his life.

 

“Said the boy was just a prostitute he picked up,” Barsad relays. “Called himself Robin.”

 

“Hmm,” Bane hums. “Anything else?”

 

“No,” Barsad answers. “Do you think he’s working for the Russians? Maybe the Ukranians?”

 

“No,” Bane answers. “The Ukrainians have settled down in Central City, and the Russians wouldn't dare steal from us.”

 

“He’s skilled enough to lose our guys and make off with forty-two grand worth of serum,” Barsad adds. “He can’t be working alone. He’s good enough to get a hit on me.”

 

“And if he is?” Bane questions, considering Barsad’s point. Barsad is an excellent fighter, and it’s rare that anyone even lands a punch on the man; himself included sometimes.

 

“Then he’d be a valuable asset to our cause,” Barsad states.

 

“Perhaps he would,” Bane replies. “Robin, was it?”

 

“Yes,” says Barsad. “If that’s even his real name.”

 

Their conversation is shortened when the boy starts to move. A low groan escaping his lips. Bane steps directly into the boy’s line of sight, caught off guard by how young he truly looks. His hair is short and messy, with dark brown eyes full of distrust and caution.

 

The boy reminds his of a caged dog ready to lash out and maim. Or maybe a bird ready to fly up and away from here. Perhaps the name Robin would suit him, then.

 

“Finally awake, little firecracker?” Bane greets. The boy seems dazed and reacts slowly to his question. His eyes wondering for a second too long before finally resting directly on Bane.

 

“What do you want?” Robin asks, voice raspy and barely audible.

 

Bane can’t help but chuckle at the young boy’s audacity. He’s tied up in an unknown location, severely hurt, and he still manages to have a slight attitude. Bane is impressed. This boy may have a purpose to him, afterall.

 

““Straight to the point,” Bane says, motioning to his right-hand man. “Alright, then. Barsad.”

 

Barsad comes forward at once, watching the boy with predatory eyes. Bane almost misses the smile that appears on Robin’s face when Barsad finally makes eye contact with him. Bane shakes his head, this boy has spunk, all right.

 

“Who do you work for?” Barsad shoots off, devoid of all emotion.

 

“Nobody,” Robin says immediately.

 

“How did you know about the exchange?” Barsad continues.

 

Bane doesn’t miss how the boy’s face has changed from almost disgruntled to confused. He’s either telling the truth, or he’s an exceptionally talented liar.

 

Barsad opens his mouth to shoot off another question when Robin speaks up.

 

“I’ll stop your interrogation here,” Robin coughs, Bane assumes his throat is inflamed from the choking Barsad he received. “I’m really not working with anyone. I’m just a poor kid, who saw a bag and decided to steal it. End of story.”

 

It makes sense, to Bane, since Gotham is overflowing with lower class citizens. Unable to live a proper life with the necessities they're given. It’s not a surprise to hear that someone decided to steal something to make their life slightly better.

 

“If that’s so,” Barsad says, pausing slightly. “Then why did you try to run just now?”

 

“I was scared!” The boy reveals. “I’m still scared. I don’t know you people. I know you saved me from that guy back at that motel, but…”

 

Bane decides to jump in at the topic of the man. Some of his men had helped Barsad drag him in earlier, a pathetic, sobbing mess. Begging for his life, because he’d done nothing wrong except abuse some hooker. It had irked Bane immensely to head the attitude with which he regarded the young boy. As if he were nothing. No one is nothing unless proven otherwise.

 

“I don’t know,” The boy whispers. “He wanted me… he was going to-”

 

Robin’s response to his question only helps justify Bane’s decision to execute the worthless man. He’s seems unsure of how to answer Bane’s question, slightly embarrassed.

 

“Does it matter?” Robin asks, significantly louder. “Did you kill him?”

 

Bane immediately looks over to Barsad, surprised by the boy’s question and the ease of which he asked it.

 

“Should I have killed him?” Barsad asks slowly, waiting to see how Robin responds. “Did he deserve to die?”

 

“Of course,” Robin answers without hesitation. “He was going to rape and kill me! It’s not like I was his first victim either. You we’re there, in the room.”

 

He motions to Barsad, eyes blazing with what seems like rage. The older man nods his head in response, confirming Robin’s accusation.

 

“He won’t be a problem to you,” Barsad tells the boy. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

 

Barsad’s eye flick over to Bane’s, a silent question to which Bane gives a quick answer. The boy is obviously strong and agile. Intelligent and ruthless enough to realize when people need to die. He’s proved himself worthy, to Bane especially.

 

The knife Barsad pulls from his ankle holster quickly slashes through Robin’ bonds, and the relief is obvious on the boy’s face.

 

He’s no longer held to the chair, but Robin makes no move to leave. Unsure of where to look, he absently rubs wrists were the rope was particularly tight.

 

“You may go,” Bane informs him, after a beat.

 

Disbelief again surfaces onto the boy’s young face.

 

“That’s it?” He asks. “You just wanted to ask me questions?”

 

“You’re story adds up,” Barsad replies. “Unless you’d like to stay.”

 

Robin jets out of his seat, rocking slightly on his feet. Bane is surprised that he wants to grab the boy to make sure he doesn’t fall. He quickly shakes the thought from his head. What is he thinking?

 

He walks out of the room cautiously, looking back once he’s far enough down the hall.

 

Bane doesn't know why he says it, but he does. It flows from his mouth easily, a sort of jest that he usually reserves his closer comrades.

 

“Farewell, Robin,” Bane calls after the boy, just to see how he responds. The boy’s body tenses before sprinting away quick as a fox. Even in pain he can run exceptionally fast.

 

Bane watches Robin’s lithe figure burst up the stairs and then disappear out of view. The only indication that he’s still around being the loud thump of footsteps.

 

“He’s fast,” Barsad comments, eyes squinted.

 

“He is,” Bane agrees. “He’ll be useful to us.”

 

“Is that so, brother?” Barsad asks conspiratorially, then. “You seem uncharacteristically interested in him.”

 

“It is and I am,” He answers shortly, turning on his heel and stocking out of the room. “Keep an eye on him.”

 

He still has to set up a few tasks to initiate before his plan for Gotham’s rebirth can truly begin. He has no time to waste on young, lost boys. Although his brain seems believe differently.

 

* * *

 

  
  


John sticks to main streets and makes sure he’s at home with the door locked behind him by nine o’clock every night.

 

He also has to wear horrible turtlenecks and scarves in the middle of August to cover up the bruises encompassing the expansion of his neck. Everyone looks at him like he’s a hipster on drugs, but it seemed better than explaining the true origin of his bruises.

 

John becomes a model citizen as to not get caught up in anymore dramatic events, like being assaulted and kidnapped and then being mysteriously released.

 

He still wonders why the two guys let him go free so easily. He’s thankful that he’s alive, but immensely curious. Who were they and what did they want with him? What’s going to happen to him now?

 

He thinks about it so much that his thoughts have managed to slip into his subconscious.

 

John has swirls of nightmares and dreams. One moment he’s back in the mansion, lying in bed with Bruce and suddenly Bruce is gone and he’s fighting off faceless men. They pin him to the bed viciously, prying his legs open, and forcing the sheets into his mouth to silence his screams for help. No matter what he does, he can’t get them off; the feeling of their hands everywhere on his body makes him feel immensely dirty. All John can do is screw his eyes shut and numb his body before the pain comes.

 

Except the pain never comes. When he opens his eyes again, his clothes are back on and he’s relatively safe. He’s in a large room sitting upon a high throne. A sea of people bow before his feet. When John looks to his left, he spots the man with the mask, watching him with a twinkle in his eyes, sitting in a chair similar to his own. John stands and the men stand with him, cheering so loudly the room rumbles with it. The masked man stands as well, grabbing John lightly by the wrist.

 

It doesn’t feel wrong as John feels it should, and he can’t help but lean into the older man’s touch. The man pulls him in by the waist, pushing into John’s person space as to kiss him _(which confuses him slightly because is he going to kiss the guys mask?)_ , but before anything can happen John wakes up.

 

He always wakes up at the same moment.

 

Thrown back into reality, panting and confused, he rolls onto his stomach to tries to go back to sleep. John doesn't know what to make of the dreams, but he tries not to dwell on it too much. Immersing himself work, which is just sprucing up his place until it’s immaculate.

 

When he’s not doing that, he’s watching tv, which has become almost impossible to tolerate as every fucking channel he gets is full of news about The Batman or Bruce motherfucking Wayne. John swears the universe hates him or something. After an entire week of seeing nothing but Bruce and his boyfriend’s stupid faces, John smashes the damned television, taking to reading books to fill up his spare time.

 

John follows the same routine exactly for three weeks before shit goes down again, as it tends to do.

 

 

* * *

 

The sun is on the verge of setting as he makes his way downstairs, casting a haze of orange and yellow and pink across the sky.

 

By now the dark marks on John’s neck have faded significantly, and so he doesn’t have to wear anymore stupid coverups. Therefore, it’s understandable that John decides to break his routine and go out to celebrate.

 

Since his kidnapping, John’s locked himself away at home out of fear of being hurt again. The memories and dreams of that day seem to occupy every crevice in his brain and he can’t shake the thoughts no matter how hard he tries. The only time he leaves his hideout is to go get food, and even then he makes sure to go straight back home.

 

He’ll admit that he’s been scared for the past couple of weeks, but being cooped up for such a long time has left him a bout of cabin fever, and John’s reasoned that spending the night out just for tonight won’t be too bad. It would probably help him get his mind off of things and just let go for a while. Plus, what are the odds that something horrible will happen, again?

 

The slight breeze that ruffles his hair feels amazing against his skin, causing John to sigh in pleasure, a welcome feeling from the stifling air in his place. Around him the streets are buzzing with a sort of anxious excitement as it usually is on a Friday night. John’s halfway into town already when he finally decides that he’s going to try and hit up a club or something. There’s a plethora of them around the area, some more sleazy (and illegal) than others, but John doesn't really care about that.

 

He just wants to find one that will let him get absolutely wrecked on alcohol.

 

After about ten minutes of randomly walking around, John finally hears the tell-tale sound of music coming from a large, factory building. The sign on the front of the place reads, “XTC”, and John can’t help but scoff at the cheesy name. It doesn’t take long for him to find the entrance, guarded only by a small group of wannabe ravers who look like they checked out from reality a while ago.

 

One of them asks if he wants to buy anything, and when John shakes his head in refusal, they all laugh as if he’s just told the funniest joke known to mankind. He doesn’t do drugs, and he doesn’t plan on it; he’s seen what happens to people once they get hooked on that stuff. John is way too cute to become a druggie, thank you very much.

 

He slips upstairs to where the music seems to be coming from and soon enough he comes to a door. Once he pushes through his senses are annihilated, the smell of booze and smoke assault his nose as he slips through the crowds of people.

 

His entire body reverberates from the boom of the bass, techno music blasting from every direction. The people around him are lost in the music, jumping and swaying like they don’t have a care in the world. John hopes he can join them, and quickly, but first he needs some alcohol in his system.

 

He treads around to see where the drinks are being distributed when spots a few guys and girls handing out red solo cups at a makeshift bar. Behind the ‘bar’ is a rather impressive cache of liquor and John’s mood immediately lightens. A throng of girls wearing next to nothing hover around the bar, collecting their drinks as John makes his way over.

 

One of the guys behind the bar makes eye contact with him, smirking as John approaches him. The gleam in his eyes makes John a bit uncomfortable, but since he was attacked a lot of things make John anxious in a way. John’s views men in a completely different light now, but he continues on to get his drink because he’s not going to let fear ruin his life. The man who was going to kill him was just one guy, and he knows, rationally, that not everyone is out to hurt him.

 

This is a step into the right direction if John wants to move past what happened.

 

“Hey,” The guy says in greeting as John walks over to him. He has tattoos on every shred of flesh that John can see, sans his face. Every piece is it’s own detailed work of art, unique it their own way, and John finds himself intrigued. He smiles even harder when he notices John checking out his arms. The guy even has the gall to flex his biceps.

 

“Hi,” John says politely instead of rolling his eyes because he’s not that ripped, okay? _(Especially when compared to that guy with the mask; John is flashed back to when he was tied to the chair, at the time he hadn’t really noticed, but thinking back, the guy was fucking jacked, like holy crap.)_ John obliterates the thought out of his head as quickly as it came and focuses back on tattoo boy, because he has no reason to be thinking about the muscle mass of the psycho who kidnapped him.

 

Instead of walking away in slight embarrassment at his own thoughts and annoyance at the guy’s presumptuous attitude, John places both his hands against the smooth wood of the bar for support.

 

“Well,” Tattoo guy draws, licking his lips. “How can I help you out?”

 

“You can give me a drink,” John suggests, earning a chuckle from the man. “Preferably something dark and will make me forget my problems.”

 

“You can’t be serious,” The guy states. “You look twelve.”

 

“I’m twenty-one,” John lies proudly. “And if I look twelve then why were you checking me out?”

 

The guy sputters at John’s question, unsure of what to say. His hesitancy helps create some confidence within John and he barrels on.

 

“I’m Robin, by the way,” He says. “And I’d really like some hard liquor.”

 

“Well, I’d have to see your ID, Robin,” He says cocky, because he knows damn well John doesn't have one. “Or maybe we could work something out between you and me.”

 

John’s skin crawls at his words. Maybe people aren’t so different after all, or maybe it’s just this city that’s sex starved.

 

John looks away, disgusted, when something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. At the back of the room is a doorway. John never would have noticed the damned thing, hidden away by a deep red curtain. A man pushes the curtain to the side and slips behind it, white light flooding the nearby area. John presumes that it’s a back room, or maybe a private area, but that’s when he spots _that motherfucker_ walking to the back area and eventually disappearing behind the curtain followed by another man.

 

It was _the_ guy. The one who saved and then attacked him! Fucking Barsad! He looks so out of place here, wearing cargo pants and army boots, along with a fucking bullet proof vest. Does he know he’s at a club and not on the battlefield? The guy has to be an actual lunatic.

 

Then again, John is hyper intrigued and wants to find out what he’s doing here, so perhaps he’s the crazy one here. He really wants to see what’s behind that curtain, his curiosity winning out over his fear.

 

“Hello?” Tattoo guy says, snapping John back to reality. “Anyone in there?”

 

“Yeah,” John says, plastering a smile onto his face. “Yeah, I’m- what did you have in mind?”

 

“I knew you were interested,” He leers. “I freaking knew you would be down. We can go to my place.”

 

Like hell they will. John isn’t going anywhere with a guy for a long time.

 

“Or we could grab a bottle and go,” John smiles hard so that his dimples will show. Quickly looking around, faux clueless, before pointing in the direction where Barsad went. “Back there and save some time.”

 

“Sounds like a plan, baby,” John gags as Tattoo guy tells one of the girls behind the bar something that John can't hear and subtly grabs a bottle off the top shelf. At least the guy has good taste in liquor. He wraps his arm around John’s shoulders and walks them over to the curtain. “Just follow my lead. We’re not supposed to bring people back here, but they understand when we need a quick hookup.”

 

They’re greeted by a tall, scary looking guy who could probably eat John for breakfast. And not in the sexy way.

 

“Hey, Slim,” Tattoo guy says. “Mind if we go up for a bit? We’ll only be a few, if you know what I mean.”

 

“Go right up,” They guy chuckled deeply, nodding his head in approval. “Just stay out of the way, we got a important guest visiting.”

 

“Got it,” Tattoo guy answers.

 

He’s lead behind the curtains and is blinded by bright white lights, a stark contrast from the dark lighting of the rest of the club. There’s a small set of rickety, wooden steps they take that leads up to another floor. From there his man of the night leads him into a swanky room with nothing in it but a large bed covered in satiny red sheets and pillows. It looks straight out of a porno and John really contemplates what he’s doing with his life.

 

“Let’s get this party started, shall we?” The guy says, twisting the top off a brand new bottle of what looks like whisky.

 

John is infinitely more interested in what’s going on with this oh-so-important guest who he presumes to be Barsad. John has to find a way to get out of this situation and out to find out what is going on.

 

John feels sort of proud of himself, not letting his fear constrain his inner private investigator.

 

Tattoo guy takes a large swig, face pinching up at the bitterness of the alcohol before passing the bottle to John. He places his lips on the bottle, but pushes his tongue up to block any liquid from actually getting into his mouth. He’d prefer to be sober while sneaking around later.

 

“Good stuff,” John says as he passes the whisky back.

 

Tattoo guy flops backwards on the bed, some of the liquor sloshing onto the sheets before he places it safely on the floor. He then motions for John to join him and he decides to go, letting his body do what it wants. He doesn't plan to sleep with the guy or anything, but he needs to do something to keep the guy out of his way.

 

John crawls over his body and sits heavily on the guys lap, unsure of what else to do.

 

“Don’t be nervous,” The guy tells him. He runs his hands down John’s back and lets them rest on his lower back. “I’ll make it good for you.”

 

“I’m not nervous,” John retorts quickly. “I just- maybe we could play first? Have you ever done any, uh, bondage before?”

 

“Oh, shit,” That guy says, a lazy grin on his face. “I hit the jackpot with you, didn’t I?”

 

John just laughs softly, grinding slightly into the guy. He can’t lie and say it doesn’t feel pleasurable, but he’s not really in the right mindset to sleep with anyone. Tattoo guy half groans, half chuckles and pulls John in for a kiss. It tastes only of liquor, thank god, and ends quickly.

 

“I’ll go get, like, some rope or something,” He says as John rolls off his lap. “You stay here and get comfy.”

 

“Will do,” John says after pretending to drink from the bottle again. “Just hurry back, yeah?”

 

“I will,” The guy says as he rushes out, the tent in his pants obvious. As soon as the bedroom door closes behind him, John is up and off the mattress.

 

He slowly opens the door and peeks his head out to see if the coast is clear. John doesn’t see anybody around, with the exception Tattoo guy, who rounds the corner just as John slips out of the room.

 

He doesn’t really know what to do know, or what even to look for. There are doors everywhere and all of them are closed. He decides to walk in the opposite direction from where he originally came in at and hopes for the best. John encounters absolutely no one and soon realizes that the entire floor is just a giant loop, as he comes to the same bedroom he originally exited from, spotting the set of stairs he come up from, as well.

 

Back at square one, John says fuck it and plans to go around opening each and every door until he finds Barsad. He knows it’s a dumb idea, and that he’ll probably get murdered or something, but his brain has abandoned him and all he can do is try and find what the man is doing here. He can’t explain why, but he just has feeling that what he’s doing is right.

 

The first few rooms that he opens are blessfully empty, all of them exact replicas of the room that John was in. There are eight rooms in total, and after quickly poking his head into seven that hold no living entity, John reasons that he’ll find what he’s looking for in room number eight.

 

John takes a deep breath, shaking away any nerves and finally pushes the door open, expecting to find himself in the middle of a huge criminal meeting.

 

Except he finds another empty room. It’s different from the other rooms, equipped with a small bar and a few lounge chairs and a nice wooden table. There’s jazz music playing softly from a small stereo set, emphasizing the peaceful mood in the room.

 

That’s impossible. He saw Barsad come up here with someone else, as well as the first guy who came up here, too. They couldn't have all disappeared while John was distracted with Tattoo boy, they were only in the room for around five minutes!

 

John enters the room with flourish, making sure no one is behind him before shutting the door completely. He looks around for any clues about where the men could have gone, but finds nothing immediately. There are three glasses sitting on the bar, though, so that has to mean they were here.

 

John is on the verge of giving up his mission, going back to the room to grab the bottle of liquor and hauling it back home, but then he hears voices. His hearts skips a beat and John instinctively flies into cover, ducking behind one of the larger chairs.

 

Soon after the voices grow louder and the door opens, people flowing into the room. John curses his luck, praying that they don’t spot him.

 

“Oh, friend,” Says a prim and proper male voice. “It’s unfortunate that we couldn’t come to an agreement.”

 

“It is,” Says another voice, accented. It has to be Barsad. “Perhaps Bane will change his mind and we can work something out.”

 

Who the hell is Bane? Another player in Gotham’s criminal chess game?

 

“Place the bag on the table, Butch,” Says the other voice.

 

There’s a chuckle and footsteps approach him. He can feel someone sit down in the chair and John curls his body into a ball, pressed up against the chair so close that he might just morph into it. That'd be great, actually. John keeps his eyes forward and attempts to control his breath. He can’t see anything that’s going on, but he has a nice view of the bar, which he now realizes he should have hidden behind. He’s screwed if  anyone goes to get their drink, because then they’d have a perfect view of John.

 

“Of course the price will triple,” The voice says casually. “I don’t have time to play with you foreigners.”

 

Ouch.

 

“I see,” Barsad says icily. “I suppose you’re a busy man, Mr. Cobblepot.”

 

“I am,” The man, Cobblepot says. “I meant no offense, please. Butch’ll pour you another drink.”

 

Fuck. John prays that they don't see him. He prays to every deity he can think of and then fucking prays again.

 

“I’m capable of getting one myself,” Says Barsad. “Thank you.”

 

Footsteps come closer to him and John watches in horror as Barsad walks behind the bar, forcefully grabbing a cup and pouring a hefty amount of alcohol in it. He downs it like a champ, clearing his throat afterwards. He looks past John for a second, but in the next second his eyes immediately snap to John like heat seeking missiles. Barsad raises an eyebrow his way and John sends him a pleading look.

 

“What’s wrong?” Asks Cobblepot, noticing Barsad staring at the back of the chair like a freak. “Is my liquor not to your liking? I have some cheap vino in the back that might be more suited to your… specific tastes.”

 

John watches the anger flare within Barsad’s eyes, his jaw clenching angrily.

 

“It’s fine,” Barsad grunts. “I just realized what nice furniture you have, friend.”

 

The two men laugh at Barsad’s comment and Barsad says nothing in return. He’s seen what the guy is capable of and he wonders why he doesn't punch these two assholes into tomorrow.

 

“You may have some redeeming qualities, after all,” Cobblepot jokes. “Alas, I have other business to attend. Are we done here?”

 

“Of course,” Barsad says. He sends John an unreadable look. “I would hate to keep you.”

 

Barsad doesn't move, staring intently where John presumes the other men are sitting, he can hear the shuffle of feet and hopes that they’re leaving.

 

“Butch will escort you out,” Cobblepot informs. “Wouldn’t want you getting lost up here, huh?”

 

This guy is a serious asshole, John concludes. He speaks to Barsad like he’s indulging a child.

 

“Thank you, for everything.” Barsad says. Then, after a beat “You leave your merchandise up here alone? Anyone could steal it and make a fortune.”

 

Where he says that, he looks directly at John, the corners of his lips turning up slightly.

 

“That wouldn't happen,” Cobblepot states, obviously annoyed. “I have loyal workers that see to that, now if you don’t mind.”

 

Barsad smiles fully now, winking at John before leaving. John hears the door slam closed, causing his already overworked heart to beat faster.

 

John barley hears the voices now that the door is closed, eventually getting softer and finally disappearing. He lets out a deep sigh, running a hand through his now sweaty hair. He came out to get drunk and ends up getting in the middle of another criminal setup. What is his life?

 

John pokes his head up from around the chair and finds the room empty again.

 

The only difference is that there’s a large black duffel bag is sitting in the middle of the coffee table that was previously unoccupied, just waiting to be opened. John swears that duffle bags are either going to get him killed or are going to make him a fortune.

 

He quickly gets up off the floor and unzips the thing. He expects guns or something, but finds a metal box instead. It’s extremely heavy and John feels nervous about even touching it. There’s a passcode on it, so he can’t really do anything with it. He shakes it to see if anything moves around, but no dice. It has to be something important, then.

 

He thinks about what Barsad said.

 

_“Anyone could steal it and make a fortune.”_

He was talking to John, that much was obvious, but did he really want John to steal for him? They aren’t friends or anything. Maybe he just wanted to give John a chance to main some cash after kidnapping him, like a weird apology or something.

 

Maybe he could give it to Barsad in exchange for a favor. It’s always good to have high friends in low places, right?

 

John decides then that he is in fact going to take the box and whatever the hell is in it. He leaves the bag there, in case anyone comes back; that way they don’t notice anything is actually gone.

 

John slips the box under his arm and cracks the door open. The place is still empty and John goes for it, heading back in the direction of the club. The sound of music growing louder calms his nerves down a bit. He practically throws himself down the stairs and whizzes past the curtain and back into the club.

 

The bodyguard calls after him but John ignores him in favor of slipping into the crowd, looking for the nearest exit.

 

The cold air feels otherworldly as it hits his sweaty skin. John looks both ways and finds the streets fairly empty. He rounds the corner, box held tight in his grip when someone grabs him roughly by the arm. He’s dragged into an alley and John almost bashes his attacker in the head with the metal box. He actually does land a few hits in, but soons his eyes adjust and he realizes that it’s just Barsad.

 

“Oh,” John lets out a breath. Barsad looks like he wants to punch John in the gut, but he doesn’t.

 

“Small world,” Barsad comments dryly, eyeing the box with interest. “How’d you get out of there without being seen?”

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” John scoffs, turning to walk away. “I need to get home with my box, now.”

 

“You know I can’t let you have it,” Barsad stops him again, head cocked to the side. “Hand it over.”

 

“No way,” John says. “It’s mine. I took it fair and square.”

 

“Wrong,” He snarks back. “I put the idea in your head, therefore it’s mine.”

 

“That makes no sense,” John retorts. “This isn't _Inception_ or some bullshit.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Barsad admits. “Just give me the box.”

 

John takes a deep breath, ready to argue till he’s blue in the face until he hears a bullet whiz in their direction. The two of them fly apart, smashing their bodies into cover. John really needs to go to church or something, because it's the second time in a month that he’s been shot at and it’s ridiculous.

 

“Alright,” John relents, sliding the box towards the older man. It makes a horrible grinding noise as it scrapes against the concrete. “It’s your box, now. Good luck.”

 

John barely catches the look of confusion on Barsad’s face before he fucking hightails it out of there. He doesn't look back once, taking the stairs two at a time, and unlocking the door in record time. John thanks his parents for giving him long runners legs as closes the door behind him and deadbolts it shut.

 

John gets in the shower, eats, and pretends that nothing happened, because fuck that. Seriously.

 

It’s almost three in the morning by the time he rolls into bed, but eventually he does fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

“The little bird?” Bane asks skeptically, inspecting the box. “How did he get it?”

 

His punches in the pin code and it pops open, vials of serum sitting within a foam holder made perfectly to protect them. Bane hums in approval and closed the box back up, devising how long this much serum will last him till he needs more. The last box disappeared after a month of use, and he knows this one won’t last much longer.

 

“I’m not entirely sure,” Barsad admits. “I suppose you were right. The boy has proven to be quite helpful.”

 

“I know I was right,” Bane jokes. “With the right training he could be an extremely useful ally.”

 

“And where, brother, would he get training from?”

 

“From us, of course,” Bane says. “Send him a message, will you?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When John wakes up, he goes to empty his bladder, followed by brushing his teeth and washing his face.

He’s just slathered some toothpaste on his toothbrush when he notices an envelope tucked between the sink and mirror with the words, ‘ _little_ _bird_ ’ written in a rather pretty cursive script. He wishes whoever sent it had just wrote Robin instead, because he's not a bird and he certainly isn't little.

 

After freaking out about someone being in his fucking place and consequently searching the place to make sure everything is still there and there’s no cameras or anything, John opens up the letter.

 

Inside is a piece of paper and an extremely large wads of cash. John pulls it out and is shocked to find so much money in his hands thick bundles of hundred dollar bills. He sets it down and goes to read the paper, hoping to find out what this is all about, on the note is a time and an address. There’s also a small amount of scribble that reads a follows.

 

  _-Payment for your services: $10,000_

_There’s another $10,000 waiting if you’re willing to meet._

 

John is sure his eyes pop out of his head, because that is a lot of money. It doesn’t take John long to decide that he’s going to go get the cash. He deserves it, with all the stress that he’s been put through lately.

 

He dresses quickly and checks the time. He has some money to pick up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap I just wrote 8000+ words and I don't know what to do with myself right now.  
> Anyway, all mistakes are my own and I hope you guys enjoyed!


	4. Off To The Races

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick little bit that really pushes this story into motion. I already have the entire thing planned out so hopefully I'll finish it! I really like writing this story, so that helps, too. You guys lovely comments are fantastic as well and I’m really glad you enjoy it! Hope I can continue to appease you lovely folk :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BANE IS FUCKING 6’8 and JGL IS 5’9. FUCK. I THINK (i know) I HAVE A HEIGHT/SIZE KINK! AND I THINK I WANT JOHN TO HAVE ONE TOO?! I was gonna use Hardy’s height, but he’s 5’9 too and that just won’t work, will it?
> 
> *subtly adds Size Kink to tags*

 

John feels anxious as he paces back and forth outside of his building. This might be a dumb idea, willingly going back to the people who kidnapped him. He’s been shot at more than he’d ever thought he’d be in his entire life, but… he’s also being offered a large amount of cash. More than he’s ever seen. John always assumed he’d end up an average guy living in Gotham, surviving paycheck to paycheck, but with this type of money he could actually do something worthwhile.  And it’s not like Barsad actually kidnapped him, if anything he actually saved John’s life. The pros of seeing Barsad and his masked boss seem more and more to outweigh the cons. He’s not sure what that says about him or the direction his life is going in.

 

He’s slightly torn but still, he finds his feet taking him away from the safety of his home and back towards the Distillery District.

 

It’s only midday and the sun sits fat and high in the sky, toasting John’s skin. It’s pleasant, especially in tandem with the constant breeze of the wind. It’s calm outside, the streets empty except for the spare car that passes him up every now and then.

 

It’s almost a bit erie, he only spots one other person as he nears closer to the address he was given, an older man who gives John the stinkeye as he passes. John doesn’t pay it any attention, his nerves getting the better of him. He checks the GPS on the phone he’d bought only a few hours earlier. He thought it better to be safe than sorry, investing in the sleek little thing in case he needed to call emergency services later. It’s also nice to have something to surf the web on whenever he gets bored. He also hit up a nearby gun store; he was planning to purchase a combat knife similar to the one he saw Barsad sporting, but the owner completely swayed him into buying a badass karambit.

 

John doesn’t intend to draw the short end of the stick anytime soon, but if anything shitty does happen, at least he’ll have way of protecting himself. The knife is heavy in his back pocket, and it reminds him that he’s about to meet up with actual criminals and that this isn’t a joke. John chuckles nervously at that. This is what he wanted, but he definitely didn’t expect it to actually happen.

 

He blames Bruce. The bastard.

 

John hasn’t heard much about the guy, except that he dumped his little playtoy. John will be honest and say that hearing about that gave him a weird, pleasing sort of satisfaction. Apparently no one can keep the millionaire's attention.

 

Except for one, though, he thinks bitterly.

 

He has heard rumors that Bruce has been spotted with Selina Kyle again and all John can do is rolls his eyes.

 

He’s always felt iffy about the women ever since their first encounter.

 

It was when he was still happily involved with Bruce. They had just gotten back from eating dinner, expensive and delicious. They had walked into the foyer, John practically draped over Bruce and the latter of the two smiling and telling some ridiculous story. Bruce was telling him about how some idiot actually tried to break into the Batmobile. John had laughed and that’s when he remembers seeing her. She looked so sleek and dangerous and knowing and oh so pretty. She had smirked when she saw John and he grinned right back at her. He hadn’t missed how Bruce had tensed under her gaze.

 

“Hey, Brucie,” She’d said, sashaying over to them in her little black dress.

 

“Selina,” Bruce replied flatly. “What do you want?”

 

“No hello?” At his blank stare her red lips quirked up. “I suppose you’re busy with… him.”

 

“John,” He’d muttered, a bit irked.

 

“Sure,” Selina muttered dryly, not even looking at him. “I’m cashing in my favor. I need some… supplies. Something to keep the dogs off my tail.”

 

“Watch her,” Bruce whispered into his ear, squeezing John’s arm before quickly heading off.

 

“Thanks a bunch!” Selina called out to his retreating form. As soon as Bruce’s footsteps were gone, her gaze flickered over to him. “Sean, was it?”

 

 _Bitch_.

 

“Sure,” John had gritted out. “Nice to meet you, Katrina...? Bruce hasn’t mentioned you, like ever, but it’s nice to meet you.”

 

 _‘Two can play at that game’_ , he thought viciously.

 

“Oh, you’re a sure spitfire,” Selina had purred, circling him slowly. The sound of her heels clacking against the hardwood was annoying and loud. “He might actually keep you.”

 

“I’m not a pet to be kept.” John felt his annoyance rising dangerously high. Who was this lady? Her and Bruce obviously shared history, and he’d wondered what that is.

 

“Hmm,” Selina had said, tapping a finger against her ruby red lips. “I wonder, has he fucked you yet?”

 

“Excuse me?” John remembers being completely taken aback.

 

“He’ll drop you as soon as you let him, y’know?” Selina shrugged. “You seem smart, so try and keep your legs closed if you want to stay around.”

 

“You don’t know me or him,” John barked. In hindsight, she was completely right but at the time he had been furious. John had been ready to tell her off, but he heard footsteps coming back. He sent her an enraged glare and she had just smiled at him, revealing her perfect teeth.

 

“Here,” Bruce said, handing her a large briefcase. With what, John didn’t know and he was too mad to really care.

 

“Thanks so much,” She had said, already heading towards the door. “It was nice to meet you, John! Remember what I said!”

 

It was the first and last time he had seen her during his time with Bruce.

  
  


John is still thinking about what Bruce and Selina might be doing wherever they are when he’s grabbed by the back of his shirt. He’s pulled into an alleyway, yanked into a hard body. John is ready to kick out and run when he cranes his head and realizes that it’s only Barsad. This guy is going to end up giving him a heart attack.

 

“God,” John whines, clutching his chest. “Can’t you just say 'hi' like a normal person instead of manhandling me?"

 

Barsad covers John’s mouth and John bites him. Barsad squeezes Johns face roughly in retaliation.

 

John wants to ask if he’s ever heard of ‘Personal Space’.

 

“See how he wears his shirt?” John notices the man, then. The same one who passed him on the street a few blocks ago, has the man been following him since then? John looks to his tee, and at first glance he doesn’t notice anything, but upon closer inspection John notices that his shirt is inside out. John finally nods his head in response and Barsad continues.

 

“One of Cobblepot's thugs.” Barsad murmurs, lifting his hand from over John’s mouth. “They wear their clothes like that for easy identification.”

 

”Cobblepot? The guy from the club?” John whispers against Barsad’s hand.

 

“Yes.”

 

The man slinks past their hiding spot, missing them completely.

 

“Why was he following me?” John asks.

 

“I don’t know.” Barsad tells him. “We lost him, there’s no need to speculate.”

 

Barsad holds him for a few more moments before finally relinquishing his hold on John completely, he starts to walk and John follows.

 

“You should be more careful.” Barsad says after a few steps. “Being followed like that is an amateur mistake.”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was training to be KGB,” John says sarcastically, trying to impersonate Barsad’s accent. “I’m just here to get my money, alright?”

 

Barsad smiles, shaking his head slightly.

 

“What’s so funny?” John asks, slightly agitated.

 

“Nothing.” Barsad grins. “Let us go get your money, then.”

 

Barsad is silent as they walk, and although he convinces himself he has a right to be annoyed, John feels as if he’s wrongfooted the other man.

 

“About Cobblepot,” John says after a few minutes of silence. They walk through an old building, climbing down a concrete set of stairs. “Why did you let him talk to you like that? You could've totally kicked his ass.”

 

They take the stairs all the way to the basement, the air is thick and smells of mildew. John feels a tad claustrophobic now and he swells with anxiety. He really hopes that this wasn’t some elaborate trap to kill him because if so, he totally fell for it.

 

“I could have,” Barsad finally replies. John waits for him to say something else but he doesn’t. John guesses that he’s trying to put off the ‘strong and silent’ vibe. It’s sort of working, putting John on edge. It doesn’t help that it’s getting darker the farther they go.

 

“Well, okay,” John says in an attempt to keep the conversation going and his nerves down as they descend even farther into the building. “I hope you’re not going to kill me. That would be dumb. On both our parts, I think. Me for following you down here so willingly and you for taking so long, because this is what? The third time we’ve met and you’re killing me now?”

 

“I’m not going to kill you,” Barsad sighs, sounding so very resigned. “Although I wish I could cut your tongue out. You talk too much.”

 

“You talk to little,” John pouts, mocking Barsad again. “Seriously, though, where are you taking me?”

 

“We’re almost there,” Barsad says. They take one more set of stairs down, this one much narrower than the one before. John trips over his own feet, saved only by Barad’s solid grip. “Careful, construction was never finished.”

 

“That’s great,” John comments dryly. “Really. You won’t hurt me, but the building will when it collapses on my head.”

 

Barsad chuckles lightly, but says nothing else. John keeps following closely behind Barsad as they finally come to a locked door. There is a small keypad sitting guard and Barsad enters the pin to quickly for John to see. The older man cracks the door open and goosebumps crawl up John’s arms, the musty air suddenly turning sharp and cold.

 

As they push through, John is stunned.

 

Although it looks much different, he knows exactly where they are. John will have to keep that in mind, in case he needs to make a quick getaway.

 

There are constuction lights set up all over the place, keeping the large area well lit. The ceilings are as high as ever, different sized pipes lining the dark brick walls. John always thought the the sewers were sort of beautiful in their own way; the sound of rushing water lending a calming quality to the place. There seems to be hundreds of men milling about everywhere John looks. His anxiety comes back a bit when he notices almost all of them have guns.

  
  


He remembers the first time he came down here, on a dare, with some of the older boys from St. Swithins. It wasn’t nearly as bright as it is now, but it is just as cold. He remembers being absolutely terrified, believing that the place was haunted. He knows now that it was just a dumb prank the older boys liked to play on younger ones, and although it was sort of mean spirited, it is a rather enjoyable memory he has. Being scared to death with his idiot friends.

 

John wonders why these guys chose a place like this to hide out, but then he realizes it’s the perfect spot. Multiple exits and lots of space. Not to mention the constant rush of water is probably perfect at covering up any noise they produce down here.

 

“This is… huge,” John comments. “These are all your men?”

 

“Not my men,” Barsad corrects. “Bane’s men. We follow his orders.”

 

“Bane?” John asks, remembering the name from the other night. “Who is he?”

 

“You’ve met before,” Barsad turns to him, brows bunched in confusion. “He is the one who let you go.”

 

It finally clicks in John’s mind. The masked man is Bane. He feels dumb for not putting it together. He blames it on all the stress that he’s been dealing with lately.

 

“So what are you?” John asks, wherever they’re going, John notices less and less men around. “Second in command?”

 

They take a set of rusty, metal stairs leading up to a level that overlooks the entire space. Off to the side is a small office, the windows covered in newspaper, and John feels like they’ve finally reached their destination.

 

“Something like that,” Barsad says, hand on the knob. “He’s waiting for you. I’ll be here when you’re done”

 

“Wait.” John feels his eyes widen and he grabs Barsad’s sleeve before he opens the door. “I don’t- you aren’t coming in with me?”

 

He feels dumb for asking, like a little kid afraid for their mother to leave them for the first day as school. He also feels angry at himself, because isn’t this what he wanted? Why is he afraid now? He wanted to become a ‘bad guy’ to show Bruce that the was wrong to push John and their life aside like he meant nothing and that’s what he’s doing. This is his chance.

 

John doesn’t really know what his life is anymore.

 

“No,” Barsad shakes his head. “You will be fine, little one. He only wants to talk.”

 

“I’m not little,” John murmurs, bristling at the name. He’s lithe, alright? It’s not his fault all the men he’s met recently are all big and muscled up. Barsad opens the door and John goes in, the door closing behind him without a sound. The office is much bigger on the inside than it looks from the outside, much cooler, too.

 

“Robin, was it?” Bane asks. John forgot just how large he actually was. His memory doing the man no justice at all. His voice sounds deep even with the mask warping it, making him sound almost robotic. He sits leisurely in a chair, a large wooden desk sitting in the middle of the room. John spots a few black boxes, all identical to the one he stole from Cobblepot's sitting in the corner of the room. He quickly looks back to man in the chair.

 

“John is better,” He says, eyes sweeping up the broad expansion of Bane’s chest. He doesn’t have a shirt on and it’s making John feel even more nervous. Why doesn’t he have a shirt on? Isn’t he cold?  “Aren’t you cold?”

 

“Not particularly,” Bane says, cocking his head slightly. “Which is your real name?”

 

“Both,” John admits. It’s probably not smart to be telling this guy, let alone anyone, his full name but in for a penny, in for a pound and all that. “John Robin Blake.”

 

“I think Robin suits you best,” Bane hums thoughtfully.

 

“I’m glad you think so,” John says. “Although I hope I didn’t come all this way just for you to tell me that.”

 

Bane’s eyes crinkle, signally a smile that John almost wishes he could see.

 

“Of course not,” Bane says. “You wanted your money.”

 

It’s not a question. They’d both know it’d be a very dumb one, if it was, because of course John is here for the money. He’s not here for the sparkling company Barsad and his boss are providing.

 

“Ten thousand, if I remember correctly,” John nods.

 

“Ten thousand,” Barsad parrots. He stands abruptly, the chair underneath him squeaking from the sudden change in weight. He walks around the desk to stand directly in front of John.“What would you do with all that money, little bird?”

 

He wants to take a step back but he doesn’t want to be perceived as rude or scared. Their difference in height is almost laughable, John’s head peaking at Bane’s shoulders; he’s also sure that Bane could easily rip his head from the rest of his body. The man is definitely intimidating, even more so when his eyes lock directly onto John’s.

 

“I don’t know” John says, maintaining eye contact. “Save it, spend it, give it away to charity, maybe. Whatever I want.”

 

“You have ten now and I’m willing to give you another ten,” Bane comments. “But what would you say if I was willing to offer you more?”

 

“More?” John questions dubiously.

 

“Things are going to change, Robin,” Bane says. He pushes forward a bit and John can’t help but take a step back. “Soon, money will be worthless. What will you have then?”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“I want you to help me,” Bane continues, ignoring John’s question completely. “In return I’ll offer you protection.”

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” John says, lightheaded at the sudden change in converation. “You sound crazy, you know that, right?”

 

He does sound crazy; ridiculously so. Money will be worthless? What exactly does he think is going to happen. And what exactly does he think he’s going to have to protect John from? Why does he even need John? Barsad seems exceedingly capable of doing everything John can and more. He makes a turn for the door, hand on the knob when Bane’s palm slams into the wall next to his head. John startles, the warmth from Bane’s body radiating through his clothes.

 

Goosebumps crawl up his arms and down his back while he attempts swallows the lump in his throat.  He’s afraid to turn around, afraid to make a move; so he chooses to stare at the door, trying to keep his breathing under control. He briefly thinks about grabbing the knife out of his back pocket to protect himself, but he’s sure Bane would break his arm before he could land a single attack, so he drops the idea immediately.

 

“If you leave this room,” Bane breaths, John can feel the heat from his breath puff onto the back of his neck. “Then you’re on your own.”

 

“On my own for what?” John whispers, licking his lips nervously.

 

Bane's arm slowly retreats from John’s peripheral and the line of heat at his back disappears. He can hear Bane take a few steps back and it isn’t until then that John turns back around, keeping his back firmly against the door. Bane’s gaze pins him to the spot and John’s never felt more lost.

 

“Gotham’s rebirth,” Bane says simply. “This city is full of corrupt deviants. It’s oppressed by the wealthy, it needs to be fixed. This city needs to be cleansed and I will make sure that happens.”

 

He feels scared for Bruce, now. He hadn't missed that way Bane mentioned the rich, with such distaste.

 

“Cleansed?” John asks, he doesn’t even care that his voice cracks. This is really serious.

 

“Gotham will become a place of equality.” Bane finishes. John shivers because the man sounds so damn proud, so sure. His conviction is frightening. “True justice will be delivered.”

 

“I don’t know what you want from me,” John says. He wants so badly to run and pretend this is just a bad dream. It has to be. His hands are sweaty and his knees feel weak.

 

“You would be my eyes and ears,” Bane says earnestly. “It will not be easy, purging this city of filth. I will be busy, and so will Barsad. You will keep watch, fly over the city and report back with information.”

 

Bane wants him to be his scout? To keep tabs on Gotham’s progress as it’s purged? He’s not sure what to do. If this guy is serious, because he sure as hell seems to be, then maybe John really needs to consider what Bane is saying. John recalls the sheer amount of men that were walking about and thinks they these guys could actually have a chance of turning Gotham upside down. If this city is really going to be brought down, then John would be stupid to reject protection.

 

“Alright,” John starts. “But I don’t know how I would help you… I’m not trained in espionage or whatever.”

 

“We can train you.” Bane says. “You’ve proved worthy enough”

 

Well, it seems Bane has everything planned out. John’s arms hang loosely at his sides as he wonders what exactly is going to happen to him. He wonders what the hell is going to happen to the city.

 

“Why are you telling me this?” John asks after a moment of silence. “I could tell the police… they could find you.”

 

“That would be foolish,” Bane tells him simply and unconcerned, moving quickly into John’s space. John swallows, because he’s right. They would probably kill him before he even got to the police station.

 

“I won’t,” John shakes his head and sighs shakily. “So, this is a deal? I help you with whatever and you protect me when you set your plan into action?”

 

“Yes,” Bane agrees. “It’s a deal.”

 

They stand too close for John’s comfort. John has to look up to Bane and the obvious power dynamic makes him shift from foot to foot. He very much doubts he’ll be much help to Bane’s cause, but there’s no way he’s going to say that out loud. He feels uneasy about agreeing so easily to this, but he doesn’t really know what else to do.

 

There’s a weird sort of tension in the room and John is a bit afraid to speak, but he’s John so he says something anyway.

 

“What do I do now? Just go back home and wait?”

 

“Yes,” Bane answers. “Barsad will come for you when the time comes.”

 

“This is serious, isn't it?” John asks. “You’re serious about this?”

 

“Very,” Bane says. “You have a month to get your affairs in order.”

 

He grabs John’s shoulder and pushes him a few steps to the left so that he can open the door. Barsad is waiting on the opposite wall. When he sees them, his brows raise slightly. “So?”

 

“Robin has decided to join our cause,” Bane says. John steps through the open door, making sure not to brush against Bane where his large frame is blocking half of the doorway. He moves to stand next to Barsad, very ready to head home and figure out what he’s going to do.

 

“Wise decision,” Barsad says, pushing off the wall and walking over and laying a hand on John’s shoulder. He wants to push it off but he doesn’t in fear of ruining this entire thing by being a brat. “I’ll take you back, now.”

 

They’re about to step down the stairs when Bane calls out to him, “Don’t do anything foolish, little bird.”

 

John wants to laugh at that, because he feels like he already has.

 

 


	5. Pendulum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys!
> 
> This chapter is kinda long so get your snacks! It also jumps around a lot because it’s been awhile (a little more than a year, but who’s counting? lol), thus I wanted to speed things along so we could really get to the story/smut/drama. If anyone is still actually waiting for this story/reading this, then you deserve all the virtual hugs because I’ve been a terrible author. Enjoy!

As soon as John walks through the door, he heads right for his stash.

 

He’s managed to save up a good amount of cash over the last few months; making sure to only spend money on things he absolutely needed like food and clothes.

 

John hasn’t had the time or the patience to count it out exactly, but just looking at it he feels like he has more money than most Gothamites make in an entire year.

 

Now he knows why so many people steal. It’s a good source of income, if you’re good at it.

 

He runs his fingers over the mess of bills before exhaling deeply.

 

Bane’s words keep playing over and over in his mind, the phrase _“Gotham will be cleansed”_ bouncing around his mind so much he doubts he’ll ever be able to forget it. He doesn't even know what Bane meant by it but if the small army down in the sewers is any indication, then things are probably going to be bad.

 

He jumps up and scours his place for a pen and some paper, quickly jotting down a note.

 

_“For St. Swithins. Stock up on food and essentials.”_

 

There’s not much else he can say without outright warning Director Mal about Bane’s plan. And he knows the orphanage could use the money more than him, especially if things really do go south in the upcoming months.

 

The cash would only collect dust if he kept it.

  


When John finally heads out, the streets are empty except for the occasional druggie.

 

It’s much later when John finally makes it, and he’s hoping that only The Director is up. He walks up the orphanage steps and knocks a few times, dashing into the shadows when he hears the clack of footsteps.

 

Light filters through the darkness and John watches as the Director pops her head outside wearily. She spots the bag and opens it, her jaw dropping when she sees all of the money sitting inside. She grabs the note John left with shaky hands, looking over it with perplexed eyes.

 

John smiles, feeling a small weight off his shoulder. He did keep a few hundred dollars just in case but he knows he did the right thing.

 

Director Mal always ran the home as well as she could, making sure every single kid was taken care and happy. John is sure she’ll spend the money wisely and make sure all of the boys still there will be protected.

 

The trip back home doesn't take long and now that his nerves have disappeared, he feels exhausted down to the bone.

 

As soon as he closes the door behind himself, he takes a quick shower and hops into bed, wondering what the next few days will bring.

 

* * *

 

 

He ends up having another dream, this one even weirder than the last.

 

John’s overlooking the city from what he can only assume is a hotel balcony. He has to be someone where downtown because that’s the only place where the buildings get this high. He swears he can see every block of Gotham from way up here.

 

The city is illuminated beautifully, evoking a strange sort of adoration for the city he calls home.

 

He hears footsteps behind him when suddenly he’s enveloped in someone’s grip. He goes to struggle when he hears a soft mechanical rasp near his throat.

 

“Bane?” John questions, a bit skeptically. “What’s going on?”

 

As soon as he asks that, all the lights go off. Not just the ones lighting up the balcony, but all over the city. Everything before him disappears in a wave of blackness, the entire city going silent.

 

Chills run down his spine.

 

“Let’s go inside,” Bane says, sounding completely unconcerned with the blackout. “They’ll catch you.”

 

“Catch me?” John parrots. “What do you mean?”

 

Bane steps away from his back and John finds himself missing the warmth, strange enough. Bane leads him by the small of his back into what looks like a large hotel room, from the little that he can see.

 

He isn’t afraid of the dark, exactly, but he has a bad feeling, so he holds on tightly to Bane, only a sliver of moonlight keeping him from being totally blind.

 

“Are you going to tell me what's going on?” John asks. Bane rests on the couch and John decides he can let go, wandering off to find something useful. “Are there candles?”

 

John is waiting for Bane’s answer when there’s a loud bang on the door. He jumps out of his skin, spinning around for sight of anything while the room seemingly gets darker and darker. He looks out of the window and watches as a group of clouds float in front of the moon, cloaking the room in darkness.

 

“Bane?” John questions. The pounding at the door is only growing harsher, now accompanied by muffled shouting. “Bane?!”

 

He doesn’t get a reply and John can’t help but panic.

 

“Bane!” John shouts, eyes blindly searching the room. The guy is over six feet tall, how could he just disappear? “Fuck.”

 

Meanwhile the banging is only getting louder, making it harder for John to focus. What does he do?

 

He thinks about hiding when moonlight filters back through the room. John sighs, grateful that he can actually see again.

 

His eyes scan the room for anything he could use as a weapon when the door slams open. Men spill in, shouting and breaking anything in their way. They’re armed to the fucking teeth and all of them are trying to make their way towards him.

 

John wastes no time running towards the balcony, his heart pounding and his head spinning. There’s nowhere to go except down, the neighboring balcony too far to jump to. He’s scared and confused so he hops over the railing and quickly decides that jumping would be better than whatever those people would do to him.

 

One quick look behind his shoulder and he realizes that all the men are faceless. Every single one of them. He doesn’t know what it means or what's wrong with them but he sure as hell doesn’t plan to find out.

 

He takes a deep breath and falls.

  


All before John is an expansion of concrete, the wind rushing around him so fast he can’t even scream. His stomach in his throat and his heart is pounding so loud he feels like it might burst out of his chest, a rambunctious _BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM_. He thinks about everything that’s lead up to this point, the ground mere feet away when --

  


\-- his eyes fly open.

  


He shoots up in bed, sweat beading down his neck when he realizes that someone is pounding on his door. He sprints to the door and makes sure the chain is in place before opening it, his hands shaking as he recalls snippets of his dream.

 

Standing on the other side of the door is Barsad. Of course it is. He looks as unimpressed as usual when he sees John in his pajamas.

 

“What the actual fuck?” John answers, feeling off-kilter. “Why are you banging on my door so early?”

 

“Are you going to let me in?” Barsad asks, ignoring John completely.

 

“No!” Everything around him feels hazy, making John bit paranoid that he’s still dreaming. “What do you want?”

 

“Bane requests your presence,” Barsad tells him. “I’m to escort you again.”

 

John shuts the door in his face. Slams it, actually. Barsad deserves it for waking him up so rudely.

 

For a second John seriously thinks about going back to bed but he’s sure Barsad would just keep knocking. Besides, he did sort of agree to align with Bane and Co., turning them away now wouldn’t be the best idea, especially for his own sake.

 

John sighs and undoes the chain.

 

He swings the door open, leaving it wide open while he goes to the bathroom. He’s splashing his face with cool water when he hears the front door close, footsteps indicating that Barsad took his invitation and came inside.

 

John quickly finishes his morning routine and heads back to find Barsad inspecting his cupboards. John doesn’t have much except some old pop tarts and his favorite cereal, he prefers to get takeout whenever he can.

 

“So,” John starts, pulling on a jacket. “What exactly does bane want?”

 

“You’ll have to ask yourself,” Barsad says, looking John up and down. “He did not tell me. Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

“You can’t be serious,” John asks. He must have gotten hit on the head because he swears Bane just asked him to steal something from Cobblepot. Again. He’d be fucking insane to go back there. “I almost got shot.”

 

“You’ve done it once,” Bane says. They’re back in his tiny little office, Barsad waiting outside like the good little guard dog he is. “Doing it again should be simple.”

 

“I don’t know,” John swallows. “And it definitely wasn’t simple. Do you know what I even-?”

 

He stops himself when he remembers how he propositioned the bartender with kinky sex because he just happened to notice Barsad walk by. It wasn’t his best night.

 

“It’s just- ,” John sighs. There is no way he’ll be able to steal from Cobblepot’s club a second time. That entire night was completely accidental. He didn’t even know who Cobblepot was. Hell, he didn’t even know what he was stealing! “I don’t think I’ll be able to do it again. Why can’t Barsad do it?”

 

“Barsad has already proven himself worthy.” Bane says, eyes flittering over John’s length. “ Now it is your turn, little bird.”

 

John just refrains from rolling his eyes. Apparently that nickname isn’t going away.

 

He mulls it over for less than a minute.

 

He agreed to work with these guys and he’s sure that Bane is going through with his plan with or without John. Having these people as friends might be good for him.

 

“Fine,” John relents. His apartment was never really his and he’s given all his cash to the orphanage. He hasn’t heard anything in weeks about Bruce Wayne or Batman. What does he really have to lose? “Just tell me what to do."

 

“Good,” Bane says. “Barsad will inform you on what you’re looking for. Do not get caught.”

 

“Caught?” John says. He doubts Cobblepot’s will have hoards of security but still. “What happens if I get caught?”

 

“Then you fail.”

 

“This is a test, then?” John asks, feeling instantaneously nervous and annoyed. “What happens if I fail?”

 

“I would not try to find out.”

 

Vague as always.

 

Great.

 

* * *

 

John pulls his hoodie over his head, taking deep breaths before he scales the back fence into XTC.

 

It’s late and ominously quiet, the only sound being the wind occasionally whipping his at his jacket.

 

It’s easy enough getting onto the property, but now he has to find a way in. A quick glance around the building helps him spot a few entry points, the easiest one being a ladder up to the roof.

 

John begins climbing, deciding it’d be better to skip the first floor altogether, especially since when he needs is on the second floor.

 

There is a roof-top door but it’s chained shut. Of course it is. He could try a window but that’d make too much noise, not to mention he might fall off the side of the building. He doesn’t feel like climbing back down so that leaves him with the large air vent up here.

 

The vent cover pops off easily, a nice blast of heat hitting him in the face. With how cool it’s gotten tonight, John gladly lowers himself into the ventilation system.

 

He doesn’t know exactly where he is but he’s sure he’ll figure it out if he just keeps crawling. There’s not really much else he can do, so crawl on he will.

 

It doesn’t take long for him to come across a small air vent. He takes a peek trying to see what room he’s over but it’s way too dark to see anything. He fishes a flashlight out of his back pocket and shines it through the slits of the vent spotting what looks like a table and maybe a chair.

 

Bingo. It’s the room where Barsad and Cobblepot were chatting, the same room the hidden documents are supposedly in.

 

John back tracks to a larger vent opening and slowly twists the screws out, trying to make as little noise as possible.

 

After about five minutes he gets the vent cover off and pushes it out. He tries to catch it but he's too slow and it falls to the ground with a loud clang. He winces, freezing for an entire minute to make sure no one is coming.

 

Once he assumes the coast is clear, he drops down and finds himself in a bedroom, the meeting room next door.

 

Barsad told him that the documents he needed would be hidden somewhere in that room where they initially met. He hasn’t seen anyone else since he got here but he’d rather be safe than sorry, so he heads right where he’s supposed to be.

 

The flashlight he brought is already flickering and he curses himself for not spending a bit more money on something better. It’ll have to do for now.

 

Now to look for the documents.

 

There aren’t a ton of hiding places and he makes quick work looking beneath chair cushions and around the bar but he finds nothing.

 

He plops himself into one of the seats and thinks.

 

What if this was just a dumb prank? Just some test to see if John was gullible enough to do whatever they asked. John can’t imagine Bane and Barsad laughing about anything, though, so maybe he just isn’t looking hard enough.

 

He waves his flightlight around the room, feeling anxious.

 

It’s then that he notices a painting on the wall.

 

It isn’t much to look at but it does catch his attention being that it's so large.

 

He gets up and examines the picture, running his fingers along the frame when he finds a hidden handle. He toys with it a bit and smiles when he hears something click, the huge painting swinging open to reveal a hidden panel behind it.

 

Jackpot.

 

Strangely enough, there isn’t any an sort of lock or combination on it. Although, he guesses that most people don’t just walk up here and snoop around without getting caught.

 

He opens the panel to reveal a few folders and papers, nothing seemingly worthwhile.

 

John scans through all the documents looking for anything Barsad mentioned.

 

He gave John a piece of paper with keywords that he should keep an eye out for. He pulls the crumpled up paper out of his pocket and skims over the words: analgesic, gas, steroid, nitrous oxide, ketamine, Venom. He guesses the last is the most important since it’s underline three times unlike the others.

 

Ten minutes of skimming later and he finally catches the word venom, hidden within what he thought was an inventory packet. He doesn’t bother reading the rest, just folding the papers in half and shoving it in the front of his sweater.

 

He can’t exactly go back the way he came, being that the vent is a few feet higher than he is, so he’s going to have to find another exit. John still hasn't heard another living being while he’s been here so he’s hoping that he can just walk out of the first door he finds.

 

He arranges all the papers to how they looked before and pops the painting back against the wall.

 

He’s poking his head out of the oor to check if the coast is clear when he’s yanked forward by the front of his sweatshirt. John falls to the floor before quickly being subdued, someone pulling his arms behind his back painfully John struggles but quickly stops when he feels his attacker dig their knee into his back.

 

“I got him, boss,” John thrashes again when his assailant squishes his face against the floor.“Stop fighting or I’ll break your arms.”

 

John does. He likes his bones intact.

 

“Good job, Butch,” John knows Cobblepot’s voice by now. “Someone get the light!”

 

Light floods the hallway, momentarily blinding him.

 

Once his eyes adjust he notices two men watching him. It’s Cobblepot and Butch. It’s the same guy who was helping him the night Barsad was here so John assumes he must be Cobblepot’s right hand.

 

Not to mention the asshole holding him down, that three men versus just him. Even if he did breakout free, he doubts he’d be able to fight his way to the door.

 

“You, again,” Cobblepot says, poking John in the cheek with his walking cane. “The little snake back to steal something else?”

 

“I didn’t steal anything,” John lies. “I was just looking for a place to sleep.”

 

“Don’t lie,” Butch says. “You tripped the safe alarm.”

 

“So what did you take this time?” Cobblepot asks. “Search him.”

 

The douchebag holding him down rolls him over and grabs the folder out of his pocket, handing it to Cobblepot who smirks cruelly at John. John manages to sit up but he doesn’t dare make a move to escape. Who knows if these guy have guns.

 

“Want me to get rid of him?” Henchman asks. “I’ll make sure no one finds him.”

 

John thinks about struggling to get free but he knows it wouldn’t do him any good.

 

“No,” Cobblepots says, much to his surprise. “I’ll call the cops.”

 

“Cops?” Butch says. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yeah,” Cobblepot nods. “I’m sure the guys in Blackgate would love a pretty boy like him, huh?”

 

The chuckle like villains out of a Bond movie,If he weren’t so scared, he’s sure he’d roll his eyes. But the fact is, he’s terrified. There’s no way he’ll survive in jail.

 

“Make sure you put these back,” Cobblepot says, handing off the papers. “And I don’t want GCPD inside here, just hand off the boy outside, got it?”

 

“Got it, boss,” Butch says, grabbing John by the arm. “I’ll take care of it.”

 

John lets himself be dragged outside, feeling completely defeated.

 

* * *

 

 

“C’mon, kid,” John rubs at his eyes, wishing he were anywhere but here. “You’re not in trouble. I just want you to answer some questions.”

 

Oh, John is sure of that, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to answer them. Then again, he’s been sitting in this stiff office chair for over an hour and his back is starting to cramp.

 

Maybe if he just plays dumb he’ll get to leave with a warning. John has to try something, because the silent treatment just isn’t really working out for him. He sits and ponders it for a minute.

 

“Like what?” John eventually asks.

 

The cop that’s been interrogating him perks up in his chair, looking at John gratefully.

 

“We’ll start of easy, alright?” The cop’s desk plate reads Gordon and he looks haggard despite his comforting smile. “Your name is Robin, right?”

 

“I prefer John,” He says. “But yeah, John Robin Blake.”

 

“Alright,” Gordon says. “D’you wanna explain why you broke into the club?”

 

“I was- I just wanted a place to sleep,” John says, trying to sound sincere. “Then I saw the club and decided it was better than sleeping at a bus stop. Please, I don’t want to go to jail.”

 

“No one does,” Gordon says.

 

He taps his fingers along his desk and pauses, looking over John’s face for a second too long.

 

“If you were just some punk off the street,” Gordon starts. “He would’ve just roughed you up and kicked you out, don’t you think? Why go through the trouble of getting the cops involved?”

 

“I don’t know,” John says, trying to keep his face blank. “Honestly.”

 

“Doesn’t make sense does it?” Gordon asks. “Unless you’re causing him some real trouble.”

 

“Like I said, I- ” Gordon cuts him off.

 

“Look, kid,” Gordon’s face shifts from neutral to annoyed. “If you have anything on Cobblepot, then you need to spill. I don’t know how you even got in his place, it’s locked down so tight but if you tell us about anything you saw in there we can get you a deal. Capisce?”

 

John takes a moment to digest all the info that’s just been thrown at him. Apparently the cops know Cobblepot is up to know good. Sadly they don’t seem to have any evidence, which is where Gordon wants John to come in.

 

“Seriously?” John asks. “Why would I work with you? I’m not a snitch.”

 

“Breaking and entering with intent to commit a felony,” Gordon drones on. “That’s at least a year. If you’re lucky.”

A year?! There’s no fucking way he’s going to jail for a year! This is… insane

 

“Yeah, right!” John hisses, he knows that cops like to play mind games and he’s not falling for it. “You’re trying to play me. I didn’t even steal anything!”

 

“Cobblepot said you almost did,” Now Gordon leans forward in his chair, watching John’s face closely. “It’s your word against his and I think we both know who the judge is going to believe.”

 

“Bullshit.” John says, shoulder’s going tense. “He’s a liar!”

 

“Which brings us back to our deal,” Gordon says. “Tell me what you saw in there. I can help you, kid. I’m sure a judge would be willing to do community service if I put in a good word.”

 

He can’t really refuse. There’s no way in hell that he’s going to jail.

 

“Fine,” John sighs. “What do you want to know?”

 

“We know he’s dirty,” Gordon says. “He’s running the fucking city and we’re gonna take him down. We just need proof.”

 

John could tell him about the secret suitcase he stole but then Gordon might ask questions about what happened to it. There’s no way he’s bringing Bane or his crazy plans into anything of this.

 

That might be worse than jail.

 

John is thinking about what he could say when there's a knock on the door, breaking up a bit of the tense air in the room.

 

“Think about it, kid. Jail isn’t a fun place, especially for someone like you,” Gordon says, followed by, “Come in!”

 

John sighs, feeling like his world is crumbling down around him. He tries to rub away at the headache he feels coming when he hears the door open. What the hell is he going to do? He was an idiot to get himself caught up like that.

  
  


“Robin?”

  
  


The voice is deep and familiar.

 

John swears he feels his blood freeze in his veins.

 

Feeling a bit light-headed, John turns around and spots him.

 

Bruce Wayne.

 

Looking as handsome as always.

 

Older, too. Much older than he should look, his face gaunt and tired. He guesses that’s what happens when you’re a billionaire by day and a vigilante by night.

 

John can’t do anything but stare, feeling nervous and strangely hopeful.

 

They keep eye contact for what feels like an eternity before John finally looks away, sitting back in his chair.

 

Neither of them speak but the tension grows hot and fast. It doesn’t take long for John to get uncomfortable enough to break eye contact, turning his back to the door. What’s going to happen, now?

 

“Well,” Gordon’s voice slices through the air, making John snap back to reality. “I’m guessing you two know each other?”

 

John can hear the door close followed by Bruce occupying the chair next to him. He wishes he could be anywhere but here.

 

“We do,” Bruce says, goosebumps flaring up John’s spine. “What happened, Commissioner?”

 

That causes John to pause all thoughts.

 

Commissioner? As in Police Commissioner of the GCPD? Fuck him.

 

He must be in some real serious shit.

 

“B&E and attempted robbery,” Gordon says. “We’re trying to work something out.”

 

“And if you don’t?” Bruce asks. “Then what?”

 

John wants to tell Bruce to leave, that it’s none of his business, but he doesn’t.

 

How could he?

 

Wasn’t this his plan all along? Stir up enough trouble in the hopes that Bruce would come to save him. That they’d reunite and everything would go back to the way it was?

 

It’s finally happening, but it doesn’t feel right. He feels like he should be happy right now but he just feels like a fool.

 

“Just a year,” John answers, like he isn’t worried as shit. “It’s really none of your business.”

 

“Just a year?” He can see Bruce’s jaw clench before he turns to Gordon. “Do you think I could talk to him alone?”

 

Gordon waits a beat before sighing, sitting up straight to look John right in the eyes.

 

“Are you sure there was nothing shady in their, kid?”

 

“I swear,” John answers. “And I swear I didn’t take any cash.”

 

It’s the truth by omission but the truth no less. That has to count for something, right?

 

Gordon leans back in his chair, intertwining his hands together.

 

“How ‘bout this,” Gorden says, attention still on John. “Since it’s your first offense, I’ll let you slide, but only if you promise to come to me if you ever hear or see anything about Cobblepot. Deal?”

 

“Deal.” John says.

 

“And you,” Gordon turns to Bruce, rising from his chair. “Talk some sense into the kid, will ya?”

 

“Sounds good, Gordon,” Bruce says. Bruce takes the moment to stand, John following suit. “I owe you one.”

 

“Don’t mention it,” Gordon mumbles. Then, to John, “We’ll be in touch, kid.”

 

“I did have something to speak to you about,” Bruce says as they’re walking out, a few of the cops tripping over themselves to talk to Bruce. He hates that it bothers him.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Gordon says. “It’s late, we can talk tomorrow. You look like you need some rest, anyway.”

 

Bruce nods and says his goodbyes as Gordon heads off, leaving them alone.

 

Bruce doesn’t say anything, simply leading him to the nicest car out in the parking lot. Typical. Bruce opens the passenger door for him and John gets in without a word, feeling more unsure than he has in a while. He straps himself in as the door closes, trying to calm himself down.

 

Bruce wastes no time slipping into the driver’s seat, cranking on the car, and speeding onto the roadway.

 

“What were you stealing?“

 

Apparently he doesn't waste anytime beating around the bush, either.

 

What should he do? Lie or tell the truth?

 

John sighs audibly, stalling for time. He isn't sure how close Bruce and Commissioner Gordon, so it might be risky telling him the truth. Lie it is, then.

 

“Nothing,” John says. He’ll just tell Bruce the same story he told Gordon, less trouble for everyone. “I was just… looking for a place to sleep.”

 

“And you couldn’t come to me?” Bruce asks.

 

John swears he hears a record scratch. He turns to look at Bruce and tries not to gape too hard.

 

“Are you fucking serious right now?”

 

“Yes,” Bruce says. He looks upset but John couldn’t give less of a fuck. “You know my door is always open but you’d rather break into some club? Do you work there?”

 

“First of all,” John starts, absolutely seething. “‘Your door is always open?’ You’re so fucking full of shit. You expect me to assume your door is open to me after you leave me? After you just cut all contact with me for months?!”

 

“I didn’t- ” John doesn’t let Bruce finish, all his anger and confusion from the past few months boiling over. “You did! You ran away to paradise with Selina Kyle without a word! Scratch that, you left me a fucking note, like a coward!”

 

His voice is shaking and he can feel his frustration germinating into tears.

 

“Do you know how embarrassed I was?” John asks, tears freely falling down his face. “You ditched me like I was _nothing_. I thought you loved me and you just left. Do you just expect me to act like nothing happened?”

 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Bruce murmurs. He pulls over to the side of the road and parks before turning his attention to John. “I’m sorry, Robin.”

 

John’s pictured their reunion a million times over but he never pictured it like this. He wipes at his eyes and breathes, Bruce’s apology sinking into his being. He feels better, all his pent up emotions being eradicated by those three simple words.

 

“Why?” John asks. “Why did you disappear?”

 

“What we were doing wasn’t right,” Bruce says, grabbing John’s hand. “I knew you loved me and I didn’t know how to end it. But know that I _do_ love you, just not in the way you loved me.”

 

John feels like he should be sad, but he isn’t. More than anything he feels better. Lighter, maybe.

 

“I forgive you,” John says, taking his hand from Bruce’s. “I’m sorry, too, for acting like a brat.”

 

“Is that why you’ve been acting this way?” Bruce asks after a moment, looking much too deeply into John’s eyes. “Stealing? Breaking into places? It's not worth it, Robin.”

 

John figures it’d be best to not mention anything concerning Bane or his plans for world domination. Lord only knows what Bruce would do to try to stop him.

 

“That was a one time thing.” He says simply. “My roommate kicked me out and I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

 

“Then spend the night,” Bruce suggests. It looks like he wants to say more but he doesn’t. “Your room is the same way you left it.”

 

John doesn’t know how to feel about Bruce calling it his room, but he tries not to think about it too intensely.

Anyway, he’d be a fool to pass up a chance to sleep in his old bed, the luxuriously soft mattress coupled with the thick duvet made for a sleep fit for an angel. He might as well good a good night of sleep while he still can.

 

Who knows that the upcoming weeks will bring.

 

“Fine,” John says. “Just one night.”

 

Bruce pulls John in for a hug and squeezes him like he might disappear, whispering into John’s ear once more that he’s sorry.

 

With that, they pull apart and Bruce pulls back onto the road, heading towards the manor.

 

* * *

 

“They left the station together,” Barsad says. “Presumably to Wayne’s home.”

 

Bane leans back in his chair, pondering Barsad’s words.

 

 “Perhaps this little bird is more useful than I thought.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are my own! If you see one please feel free to point it out because it's 2:50AM and my eyes are trash.
> 
> Next chapter, more Bane/John and "The Occupation" starts. Yay?


	6. Weak Spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the next installment, guys! Hope you enjoy! To be honest, I had sort of gotten over writing but I came back to so many amazing comments I couldn’t help but pick my laptop back up and get to work. In short, thanks to all the amazing people who read and praise my works, it’s insanely amazing I can interest people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be one long chapter but it just didn’t flow right so I decided to split it up. I hope you guys don’t mind! I PROMISE THE NEXT CHAPTER IS WHEN BANE/JOHN SMUT & ANGST HAPPENS LOL

John nibbles on his fingernails for a second before he realizes it makes him look nervous.

 

He is, but he’d prefer not to look it. He had gotten a cryptic text from Barsad early in the morning to meet up at the sewer plant again, so here he is.

 

Anxiously waiting in the middle of Bane’s makeshift office. John is tempted to snoop around but he doesn’t even want to imagine what would happen if Bane walked in on him.

 

Thus, John is just sitting on Bane’s desk, idly kicking his feet against the wood as he waits.

 

He feels his phone vibrate and he quickly goes to pull it out of his pocket.

 

It’s Bruce calling. Again. His heart skips a beat and he hates it.

 

John hits the ignore button and turns the phone off altogether.

 

He knows he’s in trouble. Bruce has been leaving him voice messages and texts telling him that Gordon wanted him in for more questioning.There’s just no way in hell that John is willingly walking back into a police station, he doesn’t wanna risk accidently spilling something about Bane.

 

John honestly feels bad for causing Bruce trouble but he has his own issues to worry about.

 

Speaking of, the door swings open and in walks Bane, shirtless and glistening. John quickly darts his eyes from Bane's sparkling pecks your his eyes. Why the hell doesn’t this guy ever wear a shirt?

 

“Little bird,” Bane greets, Barsad strolling in a beat behind him. “It's good to see you.”

 

“Right,” John says, cutting to the chase. He's never been one for useless small talk. “I know I failed your little test, so what do you want?”

 

John doesn't miss the amusement that flashes across Bane’s eyes.

 

“We hear Gordon wants to speak to you,” Barsad interjects. “Even the Batman is looking for you.”

 

“I didn’t say anything to him,” John says, rising to stand. “And I don’t plan on it, so it’s good.”

  
“And what about the Batman?” Barsad asks, stepping right into John’s space. “He has a way of making people talk.”

 

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” John says, taking a step back, his legs bumping into the desk. He catches a strange look on both of their faces and keeps note of it for later. Are they really that intimidated of Bruce? “I’m sure Batman has bigger fish to fry than me.”

 

“Of course,” Bane hums.

 

He feels slightly uncomfortable talking about Bruce to them so he tries to subtly change the conversation.

 

“Well, if this meeting is done, then I should get going.”

 

“Go?” Bane asks. “There is still work to be done.”

 

“Work?” John asks. “But… I failed, right? I got caught by the cops.”

 

“You did,” Bane says. “But you have untapped potential.”

 Untapped potential? It sounds like something out of an old 80's fighting movie and John tries not to snort. 

“Alright,” John shrugs. What does he really have to lose at this point? “Just tell me what to do.”

 

* * *

 

 

John cautiously picks up the container that he was sent for and slides it into his backpack. He stands up, looking around to make sure the coast is still clear, which it thankfully is.

 

He glances out of the window and doesn’t spot any security cars driving around which helps calm his racing heart a bit.

 

For a second he wonders if this was all too easy _(shouldn’t breaking into a high-tech medical building be a bit of a challenge?)_ but he tries not to think about it too much. He got what he needed and the cops haven’t jumped out of the shadows. It’s a win-win for him.

 

He’s nearly half way from the top floor to the garage when when a voice booms out of the darkness. John nearly pisses his pants, whirling around to catch Batman’s signature cowl appear from the darkness.

 

“I hate you.” John sighs, his heart pounding in his chest. “You scared the crap out of me.”

 

“What are you doing?” Batman asks. “Playing errand boy?”

 

John scoffs. He guesses that Bruce has had some time to look into what John’s doing and who he’s been doing it with. He’s a bit nervous, if he’s being honest but he knows that Bruce would never do anything to hurt him.

 

“And if I am?” John asks, as saucily as he can.

 

“These people you’re with are bad news.”

 

“I’ve realized.” John says. Bruce’s know-it-all attitude already getting under his skin. “But they protect me. I can’t say that about anyone else I’ve known.”

 

Batman strolls angrily towards him, staring John down with a confused glint in his eyes.

 

“Is that what this is about?”

 

John smirks, knowing his blase demeanor is angering the older man.

 

“Y'know what? I actually have to go,” John says. “Unless you want to stop me?”

 

He doesn't get a reply and Bruce doesn't make a move to stop him so John decides to take his leave. He tries not to feel smug leaving Bruce behind bewildered but it doesn’t work. The older man deserves the cold shoulder.

 

\--

 

“Interesting,” Across the street, watching with a pair of binoculars, Barsad hums. “So the Bat has a weak spot.”

 

* * *

 

It isn’t until a few days later after his second test that John meets up with Bane again.

 

He had gotten another text from a random number with a out of the way adress. Seeing as he didn't have any friends, John could easily assume who the message was from. 

 

John is a bit worried when he finds the address is someplace different but feels better when he spots Bane waiting for him in front of a pair of warehouse doors. The place isn’t as secretive as the sewers, but it's just as busy. All around them men are practically running around, moving huge boxes into the building.

 

Apparently it’s only him and Bane today, Barsad off doing who knows what. John follows him up a wall of metal stairs where they have a wonderful view of all the men below them, working diligently for Bane.

 

It shocks him a bit to see how loyal they all seem to be to Bane, slightly bowing as he walks by or makes eye contact with them. If only John had people as loyal to him.

 

Maybe someday, he thinks. 

 

“You did well,” Bane starts. “Thank you for your help.”

 

“No problem,” John says, trying not to preen. “Are there any other arrends you need done? Or do you trust finally me?”

 

“Trust?” Bane asks, pausing for a beat. “I suppose you’ve done enough to hold my trust.”

 

“Yeah,” John nods. His mind is racing being so close to someone as big and powerful as Bane. He swears that he can even smell the man's aftershave. So, really, he can’t be blamed for the words that follow. “So, how do I know if I can trust you?”

 

Bane looks over him thoroughly unimpressed, but still deigns him with a response.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Well,” John starts. “I’ve proved that you can trust me, right? I’ve done what, three jobs for you?”

 

Bane nods, listening silently. John looks to him and randomly realizes that Bane’s eyes are lovely.

 

He feels himself blush like an idiot and quickly averts his gaze. He needs to play this cool. Now is not the time to be having idiotic thoughts about some dudes eyes.

 

“B- but... you haven’t done anything for me,” John knows it’s a risk, demanding something from a someone like Bane, but the higher the risk the higher the reward, right? “Yet, of course.”

 

John doesn't miss the way Bane’s eyes crinkle and it makes his chest tighten uncomfortably. He quickly looks away towards the men working and sighs, what is wrong with him today?

 

“And what is it you want, Little Bird?” Bane asks.

 

Well… what does he want? To be completely honest, John hadn’t really thought any of this through. He just hadn’t expected Bane to cave into his request so easily.

 

John isn’t interested in having money or anything like drugs or guns.

 

What else could he ask for from a world class man like Bane who probably has a million and one connections?

 

“Let me think about it.” John finally answers, daring to stare Bane in the face. “For now you owe me one.”

 

If Bane didn’t have that mask on, John is sure he’d be smiling.


End file.
